


Cowboy Jones: Chock'lit Covered Dreams

by AdamantEve



Series: Cowboy Jones [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Bounty Hunters, F/M, Inspired by Firefly, Science Fiction, Space Cowboys - Freeform, inspired by cowboy bebop, mechanic betty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-05 00:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 45,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15852528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantEve/pseuds/AdamantEve
Summary: “Can’t you just be a rocket scientist?” Jughead asked.The joke, of course, was that nobody could “just be” a rocket scientist, and the truth was, Betty was glad that this aspect of her truly impressed him, but she needed him to understand that she made a deal with FP, and that she was serious about keeping her end of the bargain.“Dad doesn’t pay you well enough to be a mechanic, let alone be that *and* a bounty hunter.”She chuckled and played with his dog tags again. “I agreed to be his mechanic and the third, Jug. I can’t just back out of that because I’m good at the one and not the other.”





	1. The Captain

**Author's Note:**

> Hold on to your wigs.

She fit right in his lap.

Curled up in light clothing, Betty could share a kitchen stool with Jughead Jones, happily making out with him at breakfast, while his arms kept her close.

Comfortably compressed and languidly kissing, the fingers of one hand skirted the edge of her tank top while the other ran the length of her bare thigh, clad as she was in her soft sleep shorts.

She could feel the warmth of his body envelope her, because he was shirtless, wearing only his cargo pants. She played idly with his ESDC dog tags while their tongues tangled. She trailed her hands lower down his stomach and she could feel him smiling in response.

“You’re greedy, princess.”

“Just cruising,” she teased. “In case you’re open to suggestion…”

He kissed her harder, slipping his fingers to the nape of her neck to card through her hair.

A loud sound banged from beyond the galley, like heavy boots approaching and stomping through the steel grill floors.

“I’m comin’ in for breakfast!” FP cried from beyond the door. “Get decent!”

Jughead slowed to a stop and sighed, a soft growl of frustration rolling from his throat.

Betty chuckled and slid off Jughead’s lap, settling reluctantly on a separate seat. She kept one foot touching his ankle, because it was better than not touching him at all, which was how FP liked his crew: Not All Over Each Other.

Jughead’s smug grin was tempered by his spoon shoving a large amount of cereal, with milk this time, into his mouth.

When FP finally walked through the galley doors, Betty was spreading butter on her cold toast with a spoon--all the table knives were still in the dishwasher--and pouring milk into her tea.

“Good morning, FP,” she chimed. “How did your poker game go last night?”

He shrugged. “It was good. Quit early and barely got away with my winnings.” He grabbed a clean bowl from their cupboards and poured himself some cereal.

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Lady luck started abandoning you early last night?” She bit into her buttered toast and sipped her tea.

He cocked a grin as he sloshed milk onto his cereal. “She was all in, I think, but I didn’t want to be wasting it on gambling. We’re landing on Peitho in a couple of week’s time.”

A week was an actual week out there in space.

They always went by the Gregorian calendar, no matter where they were in the galaxy.  While it was a matter of practice to understand how the “days” went in other planets and galaxies, their primary calendar on the ship kept them tied to Earth like an invisible chord. While wormholes tended to bend time a little bit, they usually stayed on the mark.   

FP grabbed a spoon and stuck it into his bowl. “It’s not the safest place to bag a bounty, so we’re gonna need all the luck we can get. You practicing at the shooting range like I asked you to?”

Jughead bobbed his chin in her direction. “Making her go every damn day.”

She cast Jughead a sidelong glance.  He wasn’t kidding when he said that. Jughead took her hours in the shooting range very seriously.  

So far, Betty’s primary post the last few months had been to guard the ship doors when the bounty was dangerous or stand around as an extra gun when there was little to no risk of a shootout.

While she couldn’t fathom anyone taking a look at her and being scared, Jughead and FP _did_ let her carry a shotgun. Intimidation was everything, and she wasn’t a bad shot at it, either.  They also let her tote around a handgun, in case things really went down. _That_ was the weapon she needed extensive practice on, and she was growing more confident by the day.

They were yet to bring her along on the field for a high-risk job, but FP had been quietly hinting about giving her that opportunity for the last few weeks.

She had a feeling she knew what FP was going to say next.

FP nodded at Jughead’s report. “Good. We’re gonna need you on the field in Peitho, Betty.”

Peitho, the planet, was rough. The Peitho _bounty_ was rougher. She might actually have to shoot her gun.

She was a little nervous about it, but she was determined to prove to FP that she was as good as her word when she pressed him to hire her--she would make an excellent mechanic and she would be useful with a firearm.

Jughead froze, mid-cereal, and his eyes took on such urgent intensity that Betty thought he was going to yell at his dad, but then he continued to eat. The dark scowl on his face did not go away.

“I’ll be ready,” she said.

“Great! In the meantime, we’re meeting some prospective clients later who have cargo for us to transport,” FP said. “I’ll let you know when&nbspwe’re ready to rendezvous. When that time comes, you all know where you should be.”

Betty nodded while Jughead gave a rather discontented grunt.  

“We’ll be at the bridge when you call, FP,” Betty said amicably.

FP nodded, taking his bowl of cereal and heading out the door. “I’ll be in the bridge if anyone needs me. I’m estimating a couple of hours before rendezvous.”

And he was gone.

Betty sipped her tea and waited for Jughead’s scowl to dissipate. It took him a moment before the lines eased from his face and he pulled her by the hand to settle back on his lap.

“Where were we?” he asked with a playful smirk.

She wasn’t going to let him get off that easily. “FP upset you. Why?”

He started to suck gentle kisses along her throat. “He always upsets me.”

She drank her tea and he sighed when he realized she wasn’t responding to his seductions. She sipped her tea more loudly.

Even knowing he was defeated, he was grinning, and he gently sat her on the kitchen table, so that he was staring up at her eyes. _Those_ always defeated her. They were so pretty and they looked at her like she held the galaxy in her hands.

He ran his hands up her thighs and of course his touch put her at ease. He knew what he was doing.

 _“Stop,”_ she whined half-heartedly. “Just tell me.”

“I don’t know if you’re ready to run with us,” he finally said. “This bounty’s not going to come easy. He killed a bunch of people and he’ll be put away for life for his crimes. He’s going to resist. This isn’t a run where you can just stand around with a big gun.”

She understood his concerns. It’s been six Earth months since she first got on the ship. FP started teaching her how to shoot in week two and Jughead took over her training a couple of months ago, but even as she got comfortable with a firearm, she was yet to shoot one outside the range--in an actual hostile situation.

She was smart, and she was capable of making split-second decisions, but she lacked experience. “FP said you needed a third, sooner than he knew that he needed a mechanic. Your dad said I had to be both and I told him I could do both. If you won’t let me be a third, how am I going to get better at this?”

“Can’t you just be a rocket scientist?” Jughead asked as his hands molded to waist, like he was memorizing the shape of her between his palms.  

The joke, of course, was that nobody could “just be” a rocket scientist, and the truth was, she was glad that this aspect of her truly impressed Jughead. Over the past couple of months, he had been more than happy to help her secure the parts for her 4/2 Engine, as they’d come to call it, and as enamored as she was of Jughead’s support in that aspect of her, she needed him to understand that she made a deal with FP, and that she was serious about keeping her end of the bargain.

“Dad doesn’t pay you well enough to be a mechanic, let alone be that _and_ a bounty hunter.”

She chuckled and played with his dog tags again. “I agreed to be his mechanic and the third, Jug. I can’t just back out of that because I’m good at the one and not the other.”

“You are _great_ at the one. You are the best in the galaxy at the _one_.”

She cupped his face in her hands. “You are going to help me be good enough at the other, right? I mean, you can’t just have me standing around with a big gun or guarding the ship forever. I’m not as useful as I can be that way.”

He didn’t seem pleased by what she said, but he wasn’t going to yell at her for it, either.  “Baby, I can’t even stand Archie touching you. How do you think I’d feel if someone managed to hurt you?”

She thought about it and shrugged a shoulder. “Can’t promise you I won’t get hurt, Jug. I can only promise you that I’d be careful, and that I’d take care of myself.”

“See, the probability of you getting shot increases the more time you spend outside of that engine room.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Oh, probabilities, eh? Are you going to try to use math on me?”

“Well, I’m not wrong.”

“You aren’t,” she admitted. “But the same probability applies to you.”

“Yes, but I’ve got experience behind me. Like, you wouldn’t expect me to fix a warp core, engine, right?  Because I’m shit at that. Total shit.”

“You could if I taught you how.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Yes, you could. You were taught the basics of it already at flight school. Even more so at the academy.”

He sighed and rubbed his hands over her arms. “I’d be devastated if anything happens to you.”

“That is not the preferred outcome, no.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but Jellybean swooped into the kitchen with Hotdog bounding rambunctiously in after her.

Hotdog jumped between Jughead and Betty to get his early morning pet from his favorite mechanic.

Betty laughed and ruffled her fingers through Hotdog’s hair, holding his face as the dog barked and panted. “That’s a good boy!”

“Down, Hotdog. No slobbering,” Jughead grumbled, even as he scratched behind Hotdog’s ears.  

“Dad said we have to be at the bridge in a couple of hours,” Jellybean said.

Jughead nodded. “We know. We’ll be there. C’mon, Betts. We got things to do before we have to be at the bridge.”

Betty wasn’t certain what they needed to do before the rendezvous, but Jughead seemed sure there was. She hopped off the table and followed him out. “We’ll see you later, JB.”

She gave them a pert wave as they left the galley.

 

*********************

 

What they needed to do, it seemed, was to put on more clothes and go to the gun range to learn to shoot with a rifle.

“Long range, effective, and definitely a great way to show bounties that we aren’t messing around,” Jughead said, holding up the weapon.

Betty eyed him pointedly, turning her back to him to get into shooting position. “Yes. I’m sure. It also puts me far away from the action.”

“Snipers are badass,” Jughead said, hoisting a rifle as he got behind her and began to fit the weapon in her arms.

He wrapped her hand around the trigger handle and placed the other under the handgrip. “Steady the rifle butt against the pocket of your shoulder, put your cheek against the stock, and aim. Remember to remove the safety, brace for the kick, and don’t put your finger around the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. Bre—“

“Breathe, pause, then shoot. I know,” she muttered, holding her stance.

She felt his chuckle rumble against his chest. “Keep your elbow down and tucked in. When you’re used to shooting this, we’ll get you a bigger, longer range gun. Ready to try this one?”

She didn’t think she would ever be a sniper, but she was willing to humor him this time. It obviously comforted him, finding solutions, and she was a scientist. She had to try things out before concluding it was a bad idea. “Yes.”

He stepped back and she reset her stance by planting her booted feet a little wider apart, bracing her weapon, and aiming for her target, which was a good distance away.

She fired off a few rounds, seeing each shot hit her mark as it was diagrammed in her simulation glasses. The glasses offered her a view of her target, even if it was virtually hundreds of meters away. She adjusted her aim when necessary and knew by the improving results that she was getting the hang of it, but the force of the gun’s recoil was new to her, and a few rounds in and she was already feeling it on her shoulder.

When she ceased firing, she put the gun away and took off her ear muffs and glasses, checking the electronic results that were showing from the display mounted on the side of her booth.

She knew that her first shot was way off, but she did adjust accordingly, hitting the mark with more accuracy. She wasn’t particularly impressed by her results. This was a stationary target and a real target wasn’t going to stay unmoving, like this one, but as Jughead had told her: get a feel for the weapon. Accuracy will come with practice.

“Not bad, Cooper,” he said, looking at her results over her shoulder.

“You’re just saying that because you sleep with me.” She looked over her shoulder at him for his response.

He shrugged, not denying it, and she elbowed his ribs, which made him laugh and playfully nudge her elbow away. He gripped her shoulder gently and started to massage it. “Getting sore? I can grab some ice for it.”

She shook her head and leaned back against his chest. “I’ll be fine. This is nice.”

“You’re slacking.” His voice had gone soft, and his lips were pressing against her ear. His mild scolding was doing nothing to convince her that practicing was better than the prospect of intimacy with him.

She closed her eyes and gently rolled her backside against him. “I don’t care.”

HIs hands slid down to her waist and she gave a soft squeak when he lifted her and deposited her on the cold metal table in the booth. Placing both of his hands on either side of her on the table, he nudged her knees apart with his hips and fitted himself in the embrace of her thighs.

He stared her straight in the eyes, a challenge in his gaze as he cocked a lazy smile. “Learning how to shoot is serious business. You know this, right?”

Betty could feel her pulse quickening at his tone and at the way his eyes were darkening. Warmth spread through her body like a flash and she instantly wanted him. Impatience began to nag in her bones, but caged between his arms and leaning back slightly as he leaned forward, she knew he won this draw.

This was his game, now, and she had to be quiet.

 _Don’t make demands,_ she told herself, a quiet thrill rippling through her body.  

When Jughead beat her to the draw like this, she had to relinquish all control or suffer the sweet, delicious consequences.

Her urge to be a brat about it fought with her need for immediate satisfaction. It was a sinfully pleasurable battle.

She’d learned, in the last few months, that Jughead enjoyed taking control, which is probably why he was always quick to initiate at the most inopportune times. While he didn’t seem to mind in the least when she initiated, giving him a blowjob in the Chopper had opened a floodgate of possibilities, and he’d taken every opportunity since to take charge.

She probably should have expected it from a captain of the space force.  

Brushing her lips against his, just a light touch and nothing more, she whispered back, “Sir, yes, sir.”

Sure enough, something stood at attention.

“If you’re going to be with us in Peitho,” he began, pulling the band that held her ponytail. “You have to promise me that you’re going to do as I say.”

Her hair fell in cascades over her shoulders and his fingers followed them down so he can trace the outline of her white, henley tank top.

The tempo of her breathing had picked up, more so when the same hand that was tracing her top began to trail over her chest. With a light touch, he undid the buttons of her tank.

She whispered her promises, arching her back and wanting his touch to be _less_ light. She wanted the pressure of his fingers and the hunger of his mouth on her.

“And _I_ promise,” he said, as his hand firmly lifted one leg by the back of her knees to reach her boots. “That no one’s going to lay a hand on you while I’m around.”  Her boot came off and he began to work on the other.

“Yeah?” She was breathing more heavily now. His primal need to protect her was something they argued about outside sex, but in foreplay, it turned her on even more. Her breath quivered as her other boot fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

His lips began to trail slow kisses along her neck and shoulder, pushing aside the strap of her tank. “No one.”

When she felt his teeth rasped lightly against her soft skin, followed by the soothing touch of his tongue, she arched her shoulder against his mouth and moaned.

His lips trailed to her ear and caught the lobe of it, giving it a gentle tug between his teeth. “Remember your safeword?”

She nodded, swallowing. She remembered, and she always appreciated him asking. It was his way of telling her that everything they were doing and saying was part of the play. His control was strictly confined to this kink, a dynamic that definitely played different in their lives outside of their sex, however fantastic it was.

She could hardly speak, desperately wanting more. She bit her lip to stifle the demands that were itching to spill out of her lips. _Take off my shirt. Take off my panties. Kiss me. Fuck me. Make me come._

That wasn’t going to make him go faster. That was only going to make him take his time even more, just to prove that the control was his.

His fingers ghosted lightly over the mounds of her breasts before gently snaking under the hem of her tank. She sucked in a breath, anticipation making her say his name. When his hand trailed up her ribs and her back, marking a slow path towards the clasp of her bra, she gave a soft whine, careful to mask her impatience. She couldn’t bear it if he went any slower.  

When her bra loosened, she felt unbound, and it took all of her willpower not to push her hips forward to press him flush against her. He was so hard. How can he stand it?

His hand moved to her front, cupping and squeezing her breast lightly while he ran his thumb over her nipple.

She looked up at him, her eyes pleading for him to do more. When he tilted her chin up further with his finger, she barely waited for his lips to descend on hers. She immediately opened her mouth for him, kissing him greedily and with all the impatience she had been holding back.

He didn’t resist or complain, pushing his tongue against hers while he continued the ever deepening massage of her breast. When his other hand pulled her thigh tighter around his hips, she took a chance and ran her hands up beneath his tank, soaking up his body heat.

The ache between her legs intensified and she moaned in frustration. “Juggie.”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered back. “I know what you want, but you’ll get it when I say you’ll get it.”

She had a fleeting urge to be petulant, but she stamped it away. She both hated and liked to be denied, but the rewards were mind-blowing. Jughead knew so keenly how to make her come, and come hard.

He pushed her tank up, but only above her breasts. Even lost on each other, they knew the gun range wasn’t exactly the most private place. _Anybody_ can walk in at any moment.

_Or perhaps that added to the excitement…_

He took her nipple into his mouth, and she felt his tongue swirling around her. The light scrape of his teeth sent ripples of desire through her and she wrapped her arms around his head. She wanted to lock her ankles behind him--increase the pressure of his dick against her center, but she knew that was pushing. She wasn’t going to get away with it. Instead, she scraped her fingernails down his back with light pressure.

When he groaned and slipped his fingers beneath the waist of her shorts and panties, she didn’t even wait for his prompting. She lifted her hips so he could slide her garments right off.

The cold steel of the table was almost shocking against her ass, but it was easy not to care when his fingers began to dip into her folds.

She moaned her encouragement, throwing her head back and closing her eyes.

His kiss fell upon her throat, sucking on her soft skin hard enough that it was going to leave a mark.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed against her skin. “You are so wet.”

“All on you, cowboy,” she murmured, knowing that he liked it when she called him that. He loved it when she told him that her desire, her body, was all for him.

He pulled back to look into her eyes. “That’s right, princess. All because of me.”

He made her watch as he stuck his fingers into his mouth, tasting her, and she _knew_ then what he wanted to do.

He lowered himself and slung one of her thighs over his shoulder. His mouth was immediately on her and she keened at the immediate onslaught of his tongue.

Digging her fingers into his hair, she could only moan her approval. His velvety tongue moved in slow circles and dips, building her desire with the precision of practice. He knew her body. Knew her desire. And he absolutely knew how to get her there.

The ripple of pleasure that his tongue was strumming along her slit and on her clit spread through her body, pushing her fast towards the edge.

When he sucked her clit into his mouth, she shattered, crying out his name and she came in waves. He worked her through it, sucking and licking until she finished.

She tugged at his hair. “Juggie, oh my God, I want you inside me. Please, please…” He liked to hear her plead for him. It gave her a deep thrill when his means of denying her was to pleasure her even more. “I want you to fuck me.”

“No,” he told her, much to her delight.

His tongue was joined by his fingers, which always brought her to a faster climb, but just when she thought her orgasm would come quick, he would slow the circling of his tongue and the touch of his fingers.

Here it was. Her sweet torment. Her desire was thrown into turmoil. Should she beg even more, because that would make him prolong this wonderful torture? Or should she keep still and make him think she was being good? Would he reward her sooner?

Helpless and yet raging with desire, she rolled her hips slightly, moving in response to his tongue. It felt so good, that moment of indulgence, that she moaned at her own deviousness, even knowing that she probably wasn’t going to get away with it.

His chuckle rumbled from her core to the rest of her body and immediately she pleaded for him not to stop.

“I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Of course you didn’t, baby,” he replied, intensifying the circling of his tongue and the movement of his fingers.

She braced herself against the booth wall, feeling her herself reach that peak. Just a little more and she was going to scream his name.

But he pulled away, kissing her inner thigh, instead.

She slapped her hand against the wall and bit back her curse.

His finger continued the steady, slow circling, however, which kept her right where he wanted her. Panting and wanting, a hostage to her own desire.

“Safeword?” he asked, quietly--gently.

She shook her head. It was everything she needed. She wanted to keep going.

Immediately, the gentleness waned from his eyes, returning to its hunger for dominance. “You’re trying to take control,” he said, darkly, placing tentative licks around her sex.

She moaned in frustration, combing her fingers through his hair and tightening her grip.

His eyes fluttered lazily at the pinch of her pull, but he didn’t let it sway him. “I want to know you’ll do as I say, princess. Are you going to do as I say?”

The dominance in his tone was enough to make her come if she let it, but she held back, willing herself back into her submissive role.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I just wanted--”

“I know, but you have to trust me.”

“I do. Oh, Juggie, I do. I promise. You’re in control. I promise I won’t try again.”

“Good girl.”

His lips returned to her and his tongue tasted her deep. It was what she needed and she cried out her approval, letting him take her higher and letting him back off without a single complaint.  

When perhaps he had decided that she had learned her lesson, she realized that, at last, he wasn’t stopping and that finally, _finally_ he would bring her to completion.

“Oh, baby, yes!” she cried, just before she reached her climax with near blinding intensity.

The waves swallowed her entirely, her body clenching as her cries left her mouth unbidden. When she crested fully and began to come down, his tongue slowed and his lips left her with a soft kiss.

Betty felt boneless when he rose to look at her. She reached up and touched his face, a small smile stretching her lips. She wanted to praise him, tell him he knew her body so well, but he kissed the palm of her hand, then he pulled her by the back of her neck for a passionate, slow kiss. She tasted herself in his mouth and she felt her desire immediately revived. She knew he wasn’t done, anyway. She wanted him inside her and he needed that, too.

She dipped her hands into his back pocket, finding his condoms. He always had them. She and Jughead were always ready to throw down wherever their desires took them, which gave her a delicious thrill.

She pulled out the three packets and set it aside on the table. With both hands free, she started to unbutton his pants. With his pants loosened, she pushed both his pants and boxers off him.

His garments fell away and pooled at his ankles, which essentially bound him to the spot, but she was so lost on him that even with the shift in power, she had no airs to put on.

Taking one of the condom packets, she took a condom out of its foil and rolled it over his fully erect dick. She loved the size of him. Marveled at the shape of him. And for now he was all hers.

With him properly sheathed, she slipped her arms over his shoulders and pressed her lips to his. His tongue slipped into her mouth, seeking its partner in a steady massage.

Amidst their heated kiss, he sank inside her. They held still, relishing the sensations of their perfect fit. Betty loved the stretch of him, to have him fill her where she needed him.

She sighed into his mouth and he answered with a sigh of his own.

“You feel so good, baby,” he said, his fingers digging hard into her thighs.

She desperately wanted him to move, but she didn’t want to seem like she was ordering him around. The game wasn’t over until it was done.

Encouragement was allowed, and she knew exactly how. “All for you, cowboy.”

Sure enough, that fired his desire. He began to rock into her, slowly pulling back and pushing in. She moaned at the drag of his cock along her clit, sending bolts of pleasure spreading to her entire body.

She rolled her hips to meet his and his groan of approval rumbled in her ear.

She was so sensitive, so turned on, that she was hurtling to an orgasm not long after. He clamped his mouth over hers and caught her screams as she came, his hips thrusting her through her climax.

When she was done and panting against his mouth, he lifted her and turned them sideways so that her back was against the booth wall.

“I’m going to fuck you harder,” he said.

 _So careful,_ she thought, adoring him for it. “Sir, yes, sir.”

He went harder and deeper, which made her clit feel every thrust of hips.

It felt incredible. “O-Oh, my God, Juggie, please don’t stop!”

“I won’t, I promise. Holy fuck, this feels amazing.”

The sensations of the cold glass dragging against her head, his fingers digging into her thighs, his hips pounding into hers, their mouths meeting then tearing apart, and her clit being at the center of it all, was almost overwhelming.

They were good at this. _So_ good at this.

_This has to be more than sex._

She cried that she was coming, maybe even _oh, fuck, I’m coming so hard._

She couldn’t remember, but he drove like a piston, more torridly, and she was stumbling into oblivion and taking him with her, their combined cries echoing through the chamber.

 

*******************

 

Aftercare was a beautiful concept.

Jughead relished it.

Their sex could get a little rough, and he liked that control. Oh, boy, did he like it. He got hard just thinking about how she knew it, how she let him when she was naked.

When she submitted to him like that, her flesh in his hands and her softness against his mouth, he could believe a thousand things, all having to do with keeping her safe, keeping her happy, making her completely and unquestionably his, the way he felt that he was totally and helplessly hers.

He was gone. He was utterly gone. If she knew it, she was doing nothing to stop that tide of feelings and doing everything for him to fall even deeper.

Did she know that whenever she wore her hair in pigtails, it made him want to kiss that space at the nape of her neck where her hair framed it? Does it occur to her than when she spoke of the books she read, the movies she watched, and the music she appreciated, she may as well be speaking poetry to him? Did someone tell her than when she donned that nerdy looking headgear, with the magnifying eyepiece and the overhead light that made her look like an adorable cartoon genius that he couldn’t breathe?

He sighed, lathering the soap around the bruising of her thighs. He wanted to make sure that she knew he would take care of her. That whenever he helped her back into her clothes and kissed every single bruise he inadvertently left on her body, that it meant everything. To him.

“Everything alright?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair to thicken the shampoo bubbles in it.

“Yeah. I wish we can take longer showers.”

She giggled, looking at the timer on the wall. “Three minutes, and it’s going to get _cold.”_

They hurried to finish, and just as the last of the soap and shampoo got washed off, the ice hit their skin and they screamed to shut the shower.

Grinning, he wrapped a towel around her, rubbing her arms through the terrycloth to generate friction and heat.

She cast him a gentle smile and kissed him, for thanks. It made him melt inside.

She re-wrapped herself, tucking the towel under her armpits to wrap it above her breasts. He took the other towel and wrapped it around his waist, letting his hair drip free.

A quick glance down the hallway ensured that the coast was clear and they hurried towards their respective chambers.

“I’ll come over in a bit,” he said before he stepped into his bunk.

“Looking forward to it, cowboy,” she chimed, disappearing into her quarters.

He smirked at his own absurdity, running his towel over his hair to catch the excess water.

Hurriedly, he dressed in a comfortable cotton shirt and cargo pants. Slipping into his boots and grabbing one of his sherpa jackets, he quickly made his way to the galley. Most of the ship was warm enough to wear just the shirt, but if they were hanging out at the bridge, the jacket would keep things comfortable. That room was always freezing.

He cut a plate of fresh apples, scooped a dollop of peanut butter on the side, and added some bread and cheese to the plate. He also made a cup of piping hot tea.

Armed with nourishment, he went to her bunk.

She answered the door in clothes that were bridge ready, as well. She had on her full overalls, with her usual splash of colors sticking out from underneath the vest-like top. The long sleeves of her shirt would ensure her warmth.

He held out the plate to her. “For you, baby.”

She took it, looking up at him with that gaze that always took his breath away. The trust in them always overwhelmed him. She tiptoed for a kiss and he dropped a soft one on her lips.

“Thank you.” She led him to sit on her bed, the plate between them. She took the cup of tea and set it aside, then she took an apple slice, dipped it in peanut butter, and fed him.

He grinned and took a bite, but he spoke through his mouthful. “It’s for you. Quit feeding me.”

“Oh, I know. But I want to share it with you.” She rubbed his knee with her free hand as she began to munch on her share.

She smiled at him as she ate. “You are the sweetest bounty hunter in the galaxy. Like, bounties have nightmares about you but I know you’re soft like jelly on the inside.”

“Oh, soft, am I?” His eyebrow arched, and he couldn’t help but cock a grin.

Her face and neck reddened, and she pushed his shoulder playfully. “I mean, not with _that..._ oh, stop! You’re ruining my appreciation essay!”

He chuckled. “Not at all. Tell me more about how soft I am.”

She huffed, lightly. “I may punish you one day for being so smug.”

“Promise?”

He didn’t mind at all when she took over. The few times she had, it was exhilarating. He still had dreams about that cheerleading uniform and he never knew she looked so good in black lingerie until she donned it, with those incredibly tall fuck-me heels and her cute little crop. And when she ordered him around, he struggled to keep himself from coming _way_ too quickly.

But there was no doubt that in bed, he was more often dominant than submissive, and she relished her role of the submissive who sometimes liked to take control.

Maybe it was her history of having had to plan everything in her life to a tee. Perhaps it was that which made _someone else_ taking over so appealing to her.

Whatever it was, whatever she wanted, he would give it. He would do it. He hoped she understood that.

She winked and laughed, giving him another bite of the apples.

His eyes fell briefly on the rickety paper calendar hanging on her wall. He tried not to laugh, remembering how she would insist on such an outdated thing to track the days. She liked the throwback quality of it, he supposed. She always did have a kind of classic bent. She was the only other person he knew that enjoyed watching old movies with him.

The calendar was at least a couple of days off and he wasn’t going to correct it. Not yet.

The apples and bread were long gone and set aside by the time FP’s voice filtered through the overhead speakers. “Get to the bridge. It’s time.”

She sighed, heavily. They had only just started cuddling on her bed.

He kissed the nape of her neck and smirked. “Show time, princess.”

She grumbled her affirmation and he had no doubts whatsoever that she would rather stay in his arms than do anything else.

 

******************

 

There was always this huge build up for rendezvous like this one. It was all: stay alert! Listen to their cues! Be ready!

And most of the time, the adrenaline that rushed through her veins fizzled when it turned out that prospects were just regular people who wanted their cargo transported.

Betty wasn’t really complaining, per se. It was good that they seldom encountered intergalactic gangsters and thugs, but she wished the pre-meeting workup was less foreboding and more clinical. If statistically, they were more likely to encounter regular people, then that’s the level of vigilance they should be going by. They had enough excitement with bounties.

Then again, she didn’t know why she had expected anything bad at the border of the 3rd and 2nd quadrant. They were practically sitting in the middle of civilised space.

She wasn’t the only one bored out of her mind.

Jughead was draped lazily over his pilot seat, a toothpick idly bobbing in his mouth while he had his feet up on the dashboard.

Jellybean wasn’t even on a chair. She was stomach down on the floor, tapping away at her laptop while Hotdog lay curled beside her, lending her his body heat. Her screen showed a video game because she was done with whatever she was supposed to do.

Whenever the Whyte Wyrm was presented with an opportunity for cargo transport, the standard procedure was for everyone to go to the bridge while FP finalized the agreement.

Usually, Jellybean hacked into the other party’s system and records while the deal was being made, which often helped give them information on the members of the prospect’s crew, the ship’s history, perhaps even what the cargo could possibly be. But when there was nothing to tell them what the cargo was, they relied on Betty.

Betty’s specialty when it came to cargo was to monitor the impact the cargo had on the Wyrm: payload weight, cost to maintain the cargo, and risk factors. And whether the client was being dodgy about their cargo or not, Betty deployed her drones.

To lessen the risk of inadvertently transporting illegal cargo _without_ their knowledge—the mistake that basically sent FP to jail--Betty reprogrammed store-bought robotic space drones and souped them up with sensors that could detect contraband substances.

The drones were there so that FP and Jughead didn’t have to deal with the risks of either having to go into the other ship or allowing the prospective client’s crew to board the Wyrm, just so the cargo could get inspected.

Often, Jumpers and Cowboys got forced into deals they didn’t want to make simply because their ships got overtaken by hostile clients or their crew got held hostage in exchange for the service.

Employing the drones helped them avoid that unpleasant scenario.

Betty knew ships. She knew where her drones can get into them without the other crew noticing. Knowledge was power and she used the skills and expertise she had to get vital information.

 _Knowing_ gave FP and Jughead the advantage of making the right decision and charging the right amount of money.

But drones and safety measures aside, Jughead sat ready at the pilot’s seat in case they needed to make a quick getaway. Anybody can drive a ship, but flying it with skill—you needed a trained pilot for that and Jughead was one of he best.

FP talked through the arrangements, feeding Betty numbers for calculations she could do with her eyes closed.

She yawned and Jughead smirked at her in amusement.

The word “GO” popped up the side of her dashboard and Betty keyed in the codes to release her drones. She already knew what kind of ship their clients had so her programming for the drones should work without much of a hitch.

The prospective client seemed standard enough: corporate and clean. Their liaison was in a suit, which what was expected so close to the 2nd quadrant.

Several minutes later, the drone information started flowing in and Betty watched the data scroll up her screen. Everything seemed to be in order. The cargo was as it should be and would be easy enough to transport.

She typed her hypothesis of the contents of the cargo to FP, while also giving him the thumbs up sign.

FP nodded and turned back to the comm. “We leave in a couple of days. We’ll get there two weeks from now. That work for you?”

“That is acceptable,” said the liaison.

“Then we’re all set,” FP said. “You can initiate annexation.” He looked at Jughead who began the protocols on his dash. The sound of jet thrusters whistled through the ship and after a moment’s smooth and slow cruise, the Wyrm rocked slightly as it locked gears with the other ship.

The groans, whirs, and deep turning of gears that came with annexation provided a steady background noise to the rest of the proceedings.

The liaison waved to an assistant off screen and half the fee of the service flowed into the Wyrm’s account. “We pay half now and the rest upon delivery. Did you still wish to speak to my stakeholder?”

“Yes, indeed, I would like to.”

Betty’s eyebrow arched. This was unusual. FP never liked talking to the big bosses. He considered them nervous nellies and demanding little shits.

And why did he give Jughead a wink just now?

“Stand by,” said the liaison.

The liaison stood, letting someone else take the seat. The stakeholder’s outfit looked expensive and trendy. Definitely not a crotchety old dude.

Betty was only just figuring this out when she found herself staring into Veronica’s alluring and exotic face. The grin that split Veronica’s face was as bright as two Welmorian suns. _“Happy birthday, Chica!”_

There were a couple of things that Betty had to register. The first thing being that it couldn’t possibly be her birthday already, unless she was more off with her calendar than she thought. The second thing was that Veronica, to be able to exchange seats with the liaison, _had_ to be on the ship herself.

Veronica was a long way from New York.

Betty rose to her feet, hands clapped to her mouth in barely contained delight. This was way too good to be true. “V, you _aren’t!”_

“Oh, but I am!” Veronica cried back, laughing. “You gonna let me aboard the Whyte Wyrm?”

Betty squeaked. “Yes! Oh, my God! I mean, FP, can we—?”

“Well, yeah, kid. That’s the whole point!”

Betty smiled so brightly her face ached. “Thank you! Oh—“

“Don’t thank me.” He jerked his head in Jughead’s direction. “It was his idea.”

Betty flew into Jughead’s lap, planting a solid kiss on his lips, while completely unbothered by their audience.

Jughead was grinning by the time FP was asking them nicely to stop.

Betty laughed and grabbed Jughead by the hand as she stood, dragging him to go with her. “Is she coming in through cargo bay?”

Jughead nodded. “Annex is locked and cargo bay’s ready to go.”

“I’ll see you in cargo bay, B!” Veronica chimed. The screen blacked out but Betty was already running for the doors, Jughead’s hand in hers.

 

****************

 

He’d seen her smile, but none so radiant as this.

She chattered on as they walked briskly to cargo bay, asking him how he pulled it off, wondering how she forgot to count the days properly, thrilling at the prospect of having her best friend on board, and surmising just how much he and Veronica had talked over the comm.

He shrugged, casually. “We talked for an hour, at most. Veronica doesn’t mess around. I told her my idea and she had arrangements for a rendezvous before we even finished talking. That was the last time we talked—two weeks ago. All other communications have been by messenger. Got dad and JB in on it—JB may have messed with the digital calendars on the ship…”

In a second she was kissing him, and he sighed contentedly at the sense of affection, accomplishment, and just the physical intimacy--of having her show appreciation with her touch.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For being so thoughtful. This is already the best birthday, ever—and I didn’t even know it was my birthday.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispered back, before pecking a kiss on her lips and slapping her butt. “Now let’s get Veronica on board.”

Her broad smile was everything, and when they reached the inner doors of cargo bay, he keyed in the code, following the long protocol for authorization. The system did checks on airlock and decompression, whether an annex had been properly attached and whether the proper rules for disengagement would be followed.

Cargo bay was always more vulnerable than ship bay in that the Wyrm was relying on a connecting ship to play by the safety rules. If a connecting ship decided to disengage without safety protocols in place, it could tear cargo bay, and the entire ship apart.

It was why Betty’s drones were so important. It eliminated the risk of annexation to anyone suspicious.

As Jughead entered the last of the codes, he bit his lip and tried not to get too amused by Betty’s impatient bouncing.

As the first set of doors to cargo bay opened, Betty flew across the port and stood in front of the monitors. The screen came to life to show a group of nicely uniformed Jumpers, the suited liaison, Veronica, and two other suited men—one an elderly, statesman-like man and the other a tall, serious, and rather threatening guy.

On this monitor, the folks on the monitor couldn’t see them.

“Who are those?” Jughead asked, pointing to the two men flanking Veronica.

“That’s Smithers and Andre. The first is the family butler and the other is V’s bodyguard.”

Jughead has never met anyone with a butler before. Smithers looked harmless enough, but he knew Andre’s type. If Jughead hadn’t gone into bounty hunting, bodyguarding was another career path he could’ve taken. Andre should have been in the military or law enforcement at some point, though it was hard to tell just by looking at him standing so still. He could be legacy, for all Jughead knew. Bodyguarding could run in the family, which often came with a more sinister history--only mobsters liked to keep legacy bodyguards.

“You’ve known them long?” Jughead asked.

“Smithers, yes, but Andre’s only been around the last few years. Replaced his dad, I think. He’s alright. Keeps to himself. Very serious about his job, which is why Veronica’s dad likes him. He’ll protect Veronica with his life.”

Jughead’s eyebrow arched. Legacy it was.

He punched in the final codes and when all was authorized, the doors started to slide open. The hiss of mixing decompression and the resulting fog filled cargo bay with soft clouds, but a figure barrelled right through it, screaming delightedly.

“B! My B!”

Betty laughed as she opened her arms to receive her best friend.

Veronica jumped right into Betty’s embrace and the two ladies hugged long and tightly. Veronica was smaller than Jughead thought she would be.

She seemed like such an imposing personality on the comm, but right now, clinging to Betty affectionately, he saw just how petite the tempest was, even with her tall and thick heels.

He was certain, however, that Veronica’s personality was much bigger than she looked.

Veronica settled back and pressed kisses on both of Betty’s cheeks. “I have missed you _so much_ , girl. I know we talk almost everyday, but I miss cuddling and hugging. I miss shopping and brunching. We must do that while we’re together.”

Betty nodded eagerly as she threaded her fingers through Veronica’s. “We’ll work something out, V. I know you’ve met Juggie, but—“

“The famous Jughead Jones,” Veronica said, turning in his direction. “Captain of his Flight at the ESDC, ace pilot, reputed to be the most efficient and effective bounty hunter of the 3rd Quadrant, and the man who stole my girl’s heart and broke Archie Andrews’ face—thank you for that, by the way.” She stepped into Jughead’s space—something he did not expect, among other things—and kissed both his cheeks as well. _“Me siento honrada de finalmente conocerte en persona.”_

There were three things Jughead was not prepared for: one, he had not expected to be kissed by Veronica Lodge one minute after first meeting in person. Two, he hadn’t expected to be spoken to in Spanish, and being on the ship, he didn’t have his translator on him. And three, he was now obsessing over Veronica’s throwaway statement of “stealing” her girl’s heart. Had he? Was that fact or flourish?

“Umm,” he replied, a little tongue-tied.

Betty giggled softly. “She says it’s an honor to finally meet you in person, Juggie.”

“Um, likewise. We didn’t get much of a chance to get to know each other.”

Veronica waved his words away. “This is much better than talking over the comm.” Her gaze suddenly became distracted as she looked over his shoulder.

He turned and saw his father walk through the doors. Jughead quickly introduced them.

“Just in time!” Veronica said, clapping. “I brought gifts, not just for my girl, but for everyone. Betty, yours is extra because it’s your birthday, but everyone gets a little something. Smithers?”

The stately gentleman gathered a half dozen expensive looking paper bags, and handed them to Veronica, who distributed them accordingly.

“Betty, honey, this one’s for you. Careful, it’s heavy.”

Betty accepted a large and heavy parcel, nonplussed. “V, Jesus, I hope you didn’t overspe—“

“Nonsense! Only the best for my girl. And Jughead, this is for you.” She gave him a mischievous grin, and while Jughead was sure his own gift for Betty was in the bag he was holding, he had a feeling Veronica had something up her sleeve.

“Mr. Jones, this is for you, Ms. Jones, and Hotdog.” She handed three smaller bags to FP.

Jughead could see the flicker of amusement in his father’s eyes at being called “Mr”. Jellybean as a “Ms” was even more hilarious.

“Call me FP. And thank you, Ms. Lodge—“

“Veronica, please.”

FP nodded, cocking a grin. “Veronica. I’m sure you and Betty have a lot to catch up on. Kid, why don’t you show Veronica around the ship, while Jug and I get this cargo on board.”

Betty blinked. “You mean you were actually—?”

Jughead chuckled. “You think I’d have sat through that boring negotiation if it weren’t real?”

The liaison in the background actually looked offended and Jughead tried not to laugh.

“So you have to work?” Betty asked, disappointment in her tone.

“It shouldn’t take long, kid,” FP told her. “Jug’ll catch up with you after we’re done. Go. Spend time with Veronica. You have two days.”

Betty gave them a grateful look. “Thank you, both. Jug, hurry, alright?”

He cast her an affectionate look. She made him feel so wanted, sometimes, that he felt unworthy of it. “I will.”

Still hand-in-hand, Betty and Veronica hurried off, chattering, while Andre looked on, uncertain.

“Ms. Lodge will call us when she needs us,” Smithers told the bodyguard as he turned to walk back into their own ship. “She will be safe on the Whyte Wyrm.” He said it like there was an actual H in the word: “Hwite”

Andre looked around the somewhat ancient-looking cargo bay but said nothing, turning to join Smithers and disappearing behind the liaison and the Jumpers.

FP took over the proceedings. “Let’s get to work, boys and girls.”

 

*******************

 

The cargo was a big haul, and Jughead knew the profit on it was good. Jumpers were always available to provide transport services, of course, but Cowboys moonlighting as Jumpers were a common thing. Cowboys went where even Jumpers didn’t, so Cowboys offered a service that Jumpers were yet to provide in the farthest reaches of the galaxy.

It was important to stick to the unwritten agreement of staying in each other’s lanes. Cowboys, out of courtesy, shouldn’t impose on a Jumper’s profit, but if the cargo was going someplace the Jumpers didn’t go, then it was fair game.

As Jughead dragged the last of the cargo onto the Wyrm and FP shook hands with the liaison, the Jumpers began to file back into their ship, patting Jughead’s shoulder as they went.

There was respect among space travelers.

When the last of the Jumpers were gone, Jughead closed the cargo bay doors and secured it. Deannexation of the other ship would commence in the next twenty minutes or so.

Winded, Jughead sat on one of the crates and tapped the side of it. “Best tequila in the galaxy, I’m told.”

FP put his hands up. “I have no doubt, but let me know after you’ve tried it.”

Jughead cocked a quiet smile. His father had come a long way from those days of going on benders. Outer space had been good for the man, where the physical distance between him and alcohol was real and the instinct to survive gave a man the unequivocal choice of surpassing one’s demons or giving into it. FP fought for the way past. The Wild Quest, as they called the 3rd and 4th Quadrant, gave him a lot of time to find the strength and fortitude to recognize alcohol as nothing but a hindrance to his happiness.

“Maybe Betty and I can do shots for her birthday,” Jughead said.

FP laughed, more to himself. He tapped on his tagger and read what was on the projected screen. “That girl.... listen to this—Substance has considerable levels of alcohol and has a base composition of distilled blue agave plant. Generic origins suggest the plant hails from the area surrounding Tequila, northwest of Guadalajara, Mexico. Hypothesis: the cargo is a recreational libation known as Tequila, portioned in individual glass vessels. Risks: Highly flammable. Crew intoxication if imbibed in quantities disproportionate to body mass. Recommendation: on-board and store with caution in a cool area, with temperatures not exceeding 69 degrees fahrenheit. Who talks like that?”

Jughead chuckled and shrugged. “So she dumbed it down for you.”

“She du—“ FP wagged a finger at him. “Someday, she’s gonna figure out that the only thing smart about you is your mouth.”

This time Jughead laughed, trying and failing to keep his thoughts clean in that respect, but this was his father, so he said, “She’s a scientist! What can I say?”

“You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

Jughead was pretty certain that Betty picked _him,_ but he let his dad win this round of teasing. He owed FP that much. “So, um, thanks for helping me set this up. It means a lot to Betty. Means a lot to me.”

FP shrugged, looking away somewhat bashfully. He was never one to accept any sort of recognition. “Hey, we got a cargo deal out of it and a few trinkets for fun. Plus, Betty’s a sweetheart. I was happy to help out.”

He knew his dad liked Betty a lot, and that was true from the very beginning, but Jughead always did get the sense that his father was helplessly exasperated by how he and Betty had gotten involved.

It always bothered Jughead how FP had, when Betty first took off with them, seriously told him that he didn’t want any “foolishness” on the ship. “Boy, eyes forward. I see you looking, and I’m telling you, pass Go and don’t even think it, or I will throw you out of an airlock.”

Jughead had taken him seriously then and for the longest time, he knew his father would be _pissed_ if he and the mechanic got it on, but he supposed even FP grew resigned to the fact that Jughead had taken a serious shining to Betty and that all it took was for Betty to say “yes” and Jughead would be _done_ resisting.

“Yeah, Betts makes it easy to…” He cocked a smile and let his words trail. “I think we should leave her off the field for the next bounty.”

FP sighed. “Jug—“

“Dad, Peitho is a dangerous place _without_ a bounty to hunt down. They will take one look at her and know that she’s Gun Green— _never_ shot at living person.“

“We all had to be Gun Green, boy. We’re both still alive. She’s had practice at the range. She’s got the confidence and she’s the smartest person on this ship. We’ve got kevlar in her size—“

Jughead was determined to win this argument. “She can be our sniper. We’ll set her up and she could shoot from afar—“

Now FP was frowning, his patience waning. “Oh, when did you start teaching her with the rifle? Today? You and I both know that shooting a rifle with accuracy takes longer than that. She’ll be as likely to shoot you and me as she is our enemies. She’s coming with us, Jug. She can help us with this.”

Jughead was frowning, too. “Do you think it’ll come easy for her? Shooting a man? She’s going to hesitate and she’s gonna get hurt!”

“You see, this is exactly why I didn’t want _this_ going on in my ship,” FP finally said. “If our mechanic were anyone else, you’d be telling him to grow a spine and shoving a gun in his hands. But because you two—“

“Look,” Jughead interrupted in a tight voice. “That’s not fair, dad. I would treat _anyone_ with the same caution and respect for danger. I promised you I’d get her ready. I don’t know if she is, yet—“

“I’ll ask her. I’ll ask her if she can do this.”

Jughead felt dread roil in his stomach. She’d say yes, of course. It’s Betty. She’s stubborn and determined. She never did things in halves.

Perhaps seeing the look of worry on his face, FP’s hardened expression gave way to something softer. “I’ll talk to her properly, son. I don’t want her going out there terrified, either, but if she’s willing to go out there with us, she’s coming. I’m just letting you know how it’s going to go down.”

Jughead grit his teeth. How does he tell his dad that if anything happened to her, he didn’t know how he would handle it? He’d never lost a member of his flight or any boots on the ground. He didn’t know how it was to lose anyone under his responsibility, but he knew how their safety always mattered to him.

With Betty it was much worse. Perhaps his father hadn’t been that far off the mark.

“Is this really why you didn’t want us getting involved?” Jughead asked.

FP sighed and sat beside him on the crate. “Y’know son, I like Betty. You know I do. But the truth is, at the beginning, I wasn’t sure what I thought of her. When she first asked me for this job, she was all--God, she was _all Alice._ Fiery, determined-- _ruthless_ . That ruthlessness burned me hard, kid. Her mother made me feel like I owned the galaxy, but the moment she found something better, she left me like the trash that I was. You--son, _you_ deserve better.”

“Dad—“

“Let me finish, boy. I know she isn’t like that. I know that now, but when I first met her, I didn’t know that. All I could think at the time was that I remember how it felt when Alice did it to me. I didn’t want you _ever_ experiencing that if I can help it. That was why I threatened you to stay away from her.”

Jughead saw the intensity in his father’s eyes, how he meant what he said.

FP pressed his lips together. “Now you’re together and I could see that this is working out for you both, but I have different worries, and I’m just gonna have to hope that you’re ready for it when it comes.”

It was rare to hear his father worry about him. “What’s on your mind?”

“You and her—you come from different places.” FP’s eyebrow quirked to wait for his reaction. When he said nothing, FP went on. “I know _she_ doesn’t care about that. She’s a good person with a good heart who knows what’s important, but not everyone’s like her. The people on Earth she left behind— _her_ people, they ain’t as nice. Alice alone isn’t going to hesitate to tell you that you ain’t good enough. Betty’s dad, Hal—he’s a sonofabitch. Her siblings are a little out of their minds and everyone else around her, those trust fund kids and old-moneyed caviar munchers… they’ll look at you and treat you like they own you. I don’t know if I want you to have to deal with that crap. You’re better than all of them and you deserve their respect, but they don’t care about what you went through to be the man you are.” He paused and sighed, shaking his head. “One of these days she’s going to want to bring you home with her and you’ll have to deal with all that and it makes me—it pisses me off.”

Jughead knew that he’d had that thought parked in the back of his head for a while now. It was easy to ignore it all the way out here in space, where he was in his element, surrounded by people who were just like him.

He told himself that he’d cross that bridge when he got there. He had no idea if Betty had thought about bringing him back to Earth, but it was a conversation they didn’t need to have just yet. But one thing he knew for sure-- “She’s worth it, dad. If I have to go through all that, she’s worth it.”

FP nodded, his shoulders heavy.

Jughead tilted his chin in the direction of the doors. “And Veronica’s one of those ‘people’. She ain’t so bad.”

FP’s eyebrow arched. “I wouldn’t expect less from Betty’s best friend. Besides, those Lodges—they were hustlers like us once.”

Jughead smirked. “Oh, were they?”

“Story was that great, great grandpappy Lodge was a gangster. Drugs, guns—all that crap. There are still bunkers of money buried out in the desert that his family never found. You can still feel that gangster vibe—Smithers and Andre? Crates of tequila flown out to the far reaches of space? Please. That’s mobster mentality. I wouldn’t want to go up against Hiram Lodge.”

Jughead laughed softly. “So you’re saying—she’s just like us, just that Grandpa Lodge was better at it than Grandpappy Forsythe.”

“For sure.” FP stood and grabbed the bags that Veronica had given him. “I gotta go back to the bridge. You go find your girl. It’s her birthday and you done good, son. She looked very happy.”

Jughead cocked a small grin as he watched his dad leave.

When he was alone, he took the bags Veronica gave him and checked the boxes inside. The one box contained what he had asked Veronica to get for him for Betty’s birthday present. It wasn’t much, but she’d like it, for sure.

The other box was a mystery. He took it out and read the note:

 

_Dear J,_

_Consider this my thank you present for kicking Archie’s ass. It’s what we all deserve._

_Give this to Betty. She’ll know what to do._

_You’re welcome._

_~V_

 

Curious, Jughead lifted the lid off the box and found himself staring at what was inside, his thoughts inevitably falling on Betty.

When something in his nether regions began to stir, he replaced the cover on the box immediately.

_Well, that’s something._

This, he thought, was Veronica right out of the gate.

 


	2. The Enabler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hide the pearls.

 

 

The most distinctive thing about Veronica Lodge was that you heard her coming. Like a storm.

While some people’s biggest advantage was the stealth, Veronica was no one’s Ninja. She announced herself and proceeded to overwhelm everyone.  

From the moment of Veronica’s approach, the loud click-clack of her heels echoed down hallways. Be it metal or carbon fiber surface, her brisk steps clopped loud and sure.  

She established herself: Cat-eye makeup, non-ironic pearls, a handbag with a price tag that can feed an entire village, and hair so sharply shiny and put-together that it can cut through flesh if she whipped it just right.

She almost always came bearing presents, perhaps to offer some air in which the newly initiated can breathe, because the tidal wave called Veronica Lodge can certainly drown out anyone’s personality.

And Betty loved her just the way she was. From Veronica’s steadfast loyalty to the people she cared about to the way she scoffed at words like _destiny_ and _fate--_ ”I make my own way, thank you very much!”--there was nothing about Veronica that Betty hoped would change.

She was, also, an incredibly observant person, so she often noticed things about people sooner than Betty realized. She knew what gifts to give even before anyone knew they wanted it, like how Jellybean loved to have her own music to herself but hated ear buds, so Veronica gave her a Sound Space—a nifty, egg-shaped gadget that followed the user around (in hover mode or stationary on a surface) and played music or audio to the exact decibel of personal ear-space.

FP received a box of expensive Cuban cigars, complete with a fancy clipper, which he immediately began smoking in the bridge and for which Jughead dealt FP a pointed scowl.

“What?” FP cried. “Just this one time! After this I’ll only bust it out on the bridge for negotiations.”

She didn’t know what Jughead got from Veronica. He had simply given Betty a shrug when she asked and said, “It was a thoughtful trinket. Thanks, V.”

“Anytime, Fly Boy,” Veronica had replied with a thumbs up.

Betty received a treasure trove of things—moisturizers, volumizers, eye makeup, toners, serums, hair accessories, lingerie, a little pink dress, shoes to match, and the best personal comm in the galaxy.

They were in Betty’s cabin when she unwrapped her gifts, which was time alone with Veronica Betty appreciated very much.

“V, this is way too much. And this dress—this _lingerie_.”

Veronica laughed softly. “You’re the one who always bemoans your lack of sexy underwear, so I got you some, and the dress is necessary. Jughead said he was taking us out for your birthday.”

Betty stared at her in surprise. This was a first in many respects. There weren’t any places to go in the third and fourth quadrant. This close to the 2nd quadrant, she supposed it was a good opportunity to get out of the ship.

“And believe me when I said _I_ could be left out,” Veronica continued. “But he insisted that I join you. I don’t mind third wheeling if you don’t, B. I know your boy’s just being nice—“

Betty caught on to Veronica’s words and shook her head. “V, he totally means it, and I’d love it if you can come with us. Jughead’s just that kind of guy, you know? It’s why I—well, have very strong feelings for him.”

Veronica snickered. “Very strong feelings, huh? Does the word start with the letter L? Does it rhyme with Dove?”

Betty made a face and shoved Veronica lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up, V. Leave me alone. I’m just excited you and I can go out. Will Andre have to go along with us?”

“Ugh, yes. And if I tell him to hang back, I’ll get a call from daddy, who will promptly get in my business. Honestly, sometimes I wish I could leave the family business and risk it all.”

Betty smirked. “Well, why don’t you? It’s not like you don’t work hard. You’re pretty successful at running those nightclubs, V. And _Delilah_ is all yours. That restaurant’s on its way to getting a Michelin star.”

Veronica shrugged. “ _Delilah_ ’s a partnership. It’s not _all_ mine.”

“But your family has nothing to do with it. You are completely capable of—“ Betty waved her fingers to encompass her surroundings. “—doing something like this, with flair and fabulousness.”

Veronica scoffed. “Space travel isn’t for me, B.”

“You know what I mean. Striking out on your own, leaving it all behind—I thought you’d sooner do it than I would.”

“In ordinary circumstances that would’ve been true, but you got a major shock to your system when you cancelled your wedding and realized your life was a sham.”

The side-eye Betty dealt her was one of mostly affection. “Thanks, V.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. But you’re still kind of right. I should cut the proverbial umbilical cord and give it a go on my own. Put up my own club. Maybe I should do it in the 3rd Quadrant.”

“That’s the spirit! But maybe stick to the 2nd? I don’t know? The Wild Quest’s a little—you know, wild…”

Veronica smirked. “Unless I find me a sexy cowboy to show me the ways of the frontier.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Betty took the dress Veronica gave her and held it up in front of her as she looked at it in the hazy full-length mirror. “So, what did you give Jughead?”

“Oh, has he not told you yet? Well, I’m sure he has his reasons.”

Betty rolled her eyes. She’ll get it out of Jughead if Veronica wouldn’t tell her.

Veronica grinned and clapped her hands. “Now, let’s get you in that dress! Knock the socks off Jughead, shall we?”

 

****************

 

Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe wasn’t just some burger joint in space. It was _The_ burger place in the galaxy, and unless you were the President of some planet or federation, you usually don’t get a reservation until 6 months later.

Fortunately, if you’re friends with Pop Tate, the owner and former bounty hunter, you can walk right in and get a spot in his special section, where bounty hunters could check their weapons at the counter, congregate, speak nothing of work, and eat those amazing burgers and fries.

When Jughead went to Pop’s, he always dressed up out of respect for the establishment. Everyone else did the same. Otherwise, Pop had every right to kick you out of his restaurant.

Jughead liked the place. It gave Cowboys the respectability that most of their kind kept tucked away. Many of them came from some form of military training, having left, retired, or still on-reserve for one reason or another. At Pop’s, Jughead felt he was among kindred.

He looked at Betty who sat on the navigator’s seat, turned to Veronica who took the passenger seat behind her. Andre was in the passenger seat behind Jughead, quiet and unobtrusive.

Veronica looked animated and completely ready to take on the galaxy. Her eyes were vibrant with possibilities and her off-shoulder, asymmetrical purple dress, paired with her lovely face and memorable personality would surely turn heads. She was confident and ready to take on the universe.

Betty, though.

She looked stunning. The soft pink of her dress was the only thing demure about it. It was a slinky one-piece that clung to her curves, with strings for straps. The v-collar dipped low in the front and went even lower in the back. The hem went below her knees, but the slit on both sides defied its modest length.

 _Honest to God,_ he thought. Her entire look made his mouth water and his heart rate triple time.

But it seemed no amount of his obvious admiration for her— _“Oh, baby. You are just—c’mere.”_ Followed by what he would consider a kiss inappropriate for public consumption (he knew because Jellybean loudly complained about it and because Veronica hooted in approval)—seemed to alleviate the trepidation in her eyes and the flexing of her fingers.

He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but didn’t want to put her on the spot, even with Veronica.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any hot friends, would you?” Veronica asked him.

Jughead couldn’t help but cock a grin. “Some might be considered. Gender preference?”

Veronica tilted a questioning eyebrow at Betty.

“Both?” Betty supplied.

Veronica nodded. “Both.”

Jughead supposed Veronica wouldn’t be third wheeling for long.

As they passed the Piscean Nebula, the gigantic satellite orbiting an uninhabitable planet affectionately named Discworld—for having one continent vaguely shaped like and an elephant and another even more vaguely shaped like a turtle—came into view.

Hovering in circles above the protective dome was the neon flashing signage with the words Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe. The entire restaurant, designed in ancient 50s Americana, with gleaming chrome arched interspersed with the colorful fiberglass fittings shone like a star against the black.

The satellite was surrounded by vehicles, all lined up into a spiral to get through the force fielded entry ports.

Jughead maneuvered the transport past the long lines and headed straight for the less crowded entryway.

“Cowboys only,” Jughead explained when Betty threw him a questioning look. Plucking the transmission keyboard that quietly hovered in his direction from the air, he typed in his credentials and the number of guests he had. After he hit ENTER, the data was transmitted with a soft beep.

A second passed and the overhead feed from Pop’s central security system filtered through the transport in its calming, female voice. “Welcome, Forsythe Pendleton Jones III. Your Fugitive Recovery Agent number has been verified and your number of guests have been registered. Please proceed to Portal C.”

Veronica’s jaw dropped in explosive delight. “Forsy—“

“Laugh it up, Pearls,” Jughead grumbled. “I’ve heard it all.”

Betty’s smothered giggle did effectively turn his scowl into a half-hearted grin, if only because the tension in Betty’s shoulders seemed to momentarily lift.

Veronica, to her credit, contained her own laughter. “It’s only funny because you call yourself Jughead, _Jughead._ Forsythe is a perfectly respectable name.”

“Right. If I were an 80s movie douchebag.”

Betty shot him a mildly chastising look. “Oh, Juggie, it’s your dad’s name, too.”

“Why do you think he goes by FP? Grandpappy bequeath his name to dad because he didn’t want to be the only one and dad gave it to me to be a punk about it.”

Veronica grinned. “Are all cowboys secretly named like billionaire sons and daughters?”

“Nah, just me.”

“Well, nevertheless, you look like a million bucks to me right now, especially in that snazzy suit. I couldn’t bribe this place to give me a six-month advanced reservation and here you are, sauntering right in.”

Jughead shrugged as the transport rolled up to the front steps. “It’s just dumb luck. Pop Tate’s known me since I was a kid.” The transport door swung open and he let Andre step out first. He followed, straightening the only suit he owned. He reached for Betty’s hand. “Shall we?”

She cast him a beautiful smile and slipped her hand in his, letting him usher her out. He tucked her hand in his arm and asked, “You okay?”

Betty’s gaze softened momentarily and she nodded. “I will be.”

His brows knotted in concern, but she waved his look of worry away. He promised himself to ask again when they had the chance to settle and talk privately. In the meantime, he helped Veronica out of the transport with his other hand. He shut the transport door with a few entered codes in his tag and the transport was pulled up magnetically by the parking system, slotting the transport into a vacant space. Talking excitedly, Veronica looped her arm around his and started to urge them up the front steps.

Andre lurked and melted into the crowd.

As they breezed past the line of envious dignitaries and statesmen, they walked into Pop’s with the quaint tinkle of bells overhead.

The chatter of conversation was overlaid by music filtering from the jukebox on the side. It looked exactly like a jukebox should, authentic with its turntable and vinyl singles, but that was, at this point, pure aesthetic. Its internal system had been replaced by a digital collection of music streamed from across the galaxy.

The maître d’ was a lady Jughead knew well and the moment she saw him, she grinned, her styled updo, curly at the ends, didn’t move in the least. “Hey, ya, Jughead! Nice to see you again! Got you a booth. Does that work?”

“Always, Clara.”

Clara cocked a grin and took out a bin. “All weapons in the bin. You know the rules.”

Jughead took a moment to unload the gun from his side and the switchblade from his ankle. He was surprised when Veronica dropped in a canister of mace while Betty delicately put in a couple of electronic discs and a small, rectangular pad.

“Keep them turned off at all times, otherwise they may explode accidentally, oh you may want to leave pressure off the detonator, too,” Betty instructed Clara.

Clara chuckled and winked at her. “You got it, lady.”

In retrospect, Jughead should’ve known.

As they were ushered to their booth, they passed several cowboys whom Jughead recognized. He made eye contact, nods were exchanged, a couple even waved friendly salutes in his direction, but they were all quietly having dinner. Socializing came later in the downstairs area, where _only_ Cowboys and their guests were allowed.

Betty slid into the booth first and Jughead waited for Veronica to follow, but she waved at him and said she needed to go to the ladies room, saying she would be right back.

And then she was gone.

Jughead took the opportunity to slide in next to Betty and give the juncture of her neck and shoulder a gentle massage. “You okay, birthday girl?”

She sighed. “Better. I’m nervous.”

He saw her fingers twitching uneasily and he slipped his hand into hers, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. “Why?”

“This is the first time I’m meeting your friends, Jughead. I’m feeling a little—“ she paused, biting her lip. “Unsure. They’ve probably heard about me? The spoiled rich kid who jumped on the Whyte Wyrm to be FP’s mechanic?”

He cocked a small smile. He wasn’t going to lie. Of course they’d heard of her. However vast the galaxy was, gossip still traveled faster than light.

He and FP never talked about Betty outside the ship, and Jellybean scorned any form of conventional social interaction, so any rumors about Betty didn’t come from them, but Betty was noticeable enough on her own. She’d been seen with them. Other Cowboys had asked around—probably did their research. They knew enough about her to make the snap judgements that fueled good gossip.

Jughead had gotten hints of it already when a couple of his friends had asked him if the princess tinkered with his engines. Of course he always shut them down, and he was certain FP did the same, but that was as far as they could go to stop the tongues from wagging. They’d have continued amongst themselves.

It wasn’t everyday you had Earth nobility shed all her wealth to get in a junkheap ship to run down the scum of the galaxy.

“What if I’m exactly what they expected?” she asked, whispering.

Jughead tried not to laugh at that. Betty was _nothing_ like anyone would expect, but he didn’t want her to think he was laughing at her. “Don’t worry about what any of them think, Betts. You’ve come so far, literally and figuratively, to be yourself and do whatever the hell you want, but at a certain level, they all know FP and I wouldn’t keep you on our ship if you weren’t contributing. They understand you’re part of the Wyrm.”

That seemed to ease her tension even more. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really. And if anyone’s dumb enough to question that, they’ll hear it from me, or from dad. I think he even likes you more than he likes me.”

She rolled her eyes, even as she grinned. “That is not true.”

“It’s at least debatable.”

She laughed and slid her hands under his coat and around his waist. He pulled her close enough to make their noses touch.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she whispered. “To this fantastic place that the entire galaxy wants to get into and where your friends hang out. I—“

He kissed her slowly, until her shoulders were boneless and she was sighing into his mouth.

She took his hand and slid it between her knees. “Are you gonna tell everyone that we’re—you know?”

He had to take a deep breath to control his desire, even as he slid his hand higher up her thigh. “I already did, baby. Preventive, you know? Pop will kill me if guys start hitting on you and I get agitated about it.”

She made a sound when his fingers skirted the edge of her panties.

“Alright, break it up, you two. In case you forgot, I’m still here and we still have to get dinner.”

Veronica’s voice cut through their haze.

Jughead valiantly turned to Veronica and offered her one of the menus slotted between the napkin dispenser and the rack of condiments. He tried not to sigh when Betty’s thighs clamped tight to keep his one hand right where it was. “Get the milkshake. It’s phenomenal.”

Veronica settled on her seat, but her eyes immediately began to shift suspiciously between him and Betty.

“You don’t believe me?” Jughead asked.

“I do…” Veronica replied, uncertainty in her tone. “Well, what flavor?”

“Any,” Jughead replied, running his fingers lightly over the soft skin of Betty’s thigh.

“What do you usually get?” Betty asked, taking a menu for herself and casually looking it over. She opened her thighs but clamped her hand firmly around his wrist to keep him exactly where she wanted him.

He sighed, cocking a smile as he pushed her panties aside and slid his fingers inside her. “Chocolate.”

She bit her lip and breathed, eyeing him with devastating desire. “Chocolate, it is.”

 

********************

 

Sometimes, Betty thought, that Jughead had ruined her, because really, when did she become this woman who wanted sex anytime, anywhere with him?

Case in point, after an entire half hour of Jughead’s fingering her in their booth while they tried to have a proper conversation with Veronica _and_ have the very delicious dinner of milkshakes, burgers, and fries, she didn’t quite feel like there was anything wrong with it.

Without a doubt, she was aroused and it felt incredibly good, but her mind was telling her that she should have a bit more respect for her dearest friend who sat across from them, seeming completely oblivious to the goings on under the table.

There were a couple of times where Betty had to pretend that her moan was a result of the delicious and perfectly cooked burger, and that her fist banging on the table was a gesture of emphasis on the point that the _Golden Girls_ did more for feminism than _Sex in the City_ did, but apart from Veronica asking her if she was feeling okay, to which Betty replied the milkshake might have been a bit more sugar than her body was used to, Veronica carried on, unbothered by these awkward punctuations.

How Jughead kept a straight face through it all was a skill Betty did not know he had mastered.

When Veronica, in her endless energy spotted a Prime Minister she happened to know three tables over, excused herself because she had to give the distinguished lady a hello, Betty’s magnanimous, _“Go!”_ was laced with desperate urgency.

As soon as Veronica left, Betty prayed desperately that the music was just loud enough to drown out her cries of pleasure when she let Jughead _finally_ finish her off.

She was so worked up that it didn’t take more than a couple of seconds. She rolled her hips as his fingers worked, and his kiss helped to muffle her cries.

When her orgasm was spent she settled against him, embracing his arm and burying her face in his shoulder. _“Fuck,_ that was good,” she gasped. “Also, how dare you?”

He chuckled and kissed her. As his fingers withdrew, she found that she missed them already. She was a mess.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she recovered. “You know that was your fault, right?”

She nodded, still catching her breath. “I am aware. But I was referring to how much you made me want you when you kissed me the way you did, which resulted in me putting your hand up my skirt.”

“I was trying to relax you, that’s all. You were so tense, baby.”

His tone was both tender and dark with need, and sure enough, when her hand wandered to the front of his pants, he was rock hard.

But unlike her, _he_ had willpower.

He gently removed her hand from him. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not going to put me through what you had to endure. Veronica’s already heading back here. We’ll deal with this _later.”_

She smiled. Betty could hardly wait.

 

*****************

 

After dinner, Jughead brought them through the velvet ropes to the lower levels, where all the cowboys congregated for some drinks, mingling, and a couple of pool tables.

The downstairs had a bar of its own and it was where Pop Tate held court, where he mixed his milkshakes with an extra kick, served poutine from the kitchen, and took the time to catch up with old friends.

Live performers played music on the small stage, singing classic ditties in jazzy beats.

“Jughead! Good to see you again!” He reached across the bar to offer his hand and Jughead took it with a warm shake. “And I see new faces!”

Betty offered Pop a warm smile. He seemed like such a gentle, welcoming soul. It was hard to imagine that Pop used to be a bounty hunter himself, good enough at his job to have seeded the money to build this wonder of a restaurant among the heavens.

“This is Betty Cooper, our brilliant engineer and rocket scientist at the Wyrm. Sometimes explosives expert, often our gadget wiz—“

Pop wagged a finger at her. “I know about Betty Cooper, Jughead. How’d FP get the funds to pay for _your_ expertise, lady?” He shook her hand.

Betty shrugged, casting Jughead a grin. “I like the job. Pay’s not bad.”

“She’s being nice,” Jughead said. “The pay sucks. She’s too good for us. Too good for me, actually.” He swung an arm over her shoulders.

Betty tugged gently at his tie. “Stop. That’s not true.” She pecked a kiss to the underside of his jaw, which made him grin and rub her shoulder before turning and gesturing towards Veronica. “And this is—“

“Veronica Lodge,” Pop said, leaning over to shake her hand. “In the flesh. Heiress to the Lodge empire, bar manager, and a restauranteur herself. You’re doing an excellent job with _Delilah._ You’re going places and I’ll ask you to remember me when you leave us all in the dust.”

Veronica nodded and grinned, eyebrow arched. “Damn straight.”

Betty thought it impressive that Pop knew a thing or two about them, though it wasn’t that hard to get that information over the net. Still, it was interesting that he took the time.

Pop laughed and nodded. “Let me get the three of you your first round of drinks, on me!” He turned to his assistant before Jughead could protest and told them to go where they pleased, that he would have his staff bring the drinks over.

Jughead thanked him and began to usher both Betty and Veronica to the pool tables.

As they approached, a group around one pool table gave a loud cheer at seeing them.

“Look who decided to grace us with his presence!” cried an incredibly tall and broad shouldered guy. His dark hair and exotic features made him distinctly attractive. He clasped Jughead’s hand and pulled him in for a half-embrace that clearly required shoulder tapping and back slapping.

This was repeated across a group of other pool players, men and women alike.

Betty had developed a keen sense about how cowboys held themselves outside of work and in dressy, social settings like this one. As gunslingers they talked tough, moved rough, and never smiled unless it was to bare their teeth. Here, at Pop’s, they were relaxed, still a little profane, and they had booming, loud laughs, but they held themselves like soldiers—tall, straight shouldered, and unaffectedly elegant.

They were impressive to behold, if a little intimidating.

When Jughead introduced them to his friends, she got a closer look at each one.

The big guy was named Sweetpea. Towering and bombastic, he looked like an enforcer who could overcome through sheer force of strength. He eyed Veronica with particular interest, throwing a flirty joke her way, which made Jughead’s eyes roll and Veronica’s eyebrow quirk with delight.

 _Ah, cowboys_ , thought Betty, stifling a giggle.

Sweetpea was followed by Joaquin, a man whose beautiful face showed both kindness and a steely expression when challenged in the slightest way (when Sweetpea told him to fetch a drink, Joaquin’s eyes flashed and he said, “Kiss mine, Pea.”) He was, however, very respectful to Jughead.

Toni Topaz, a lovely lady with pink hair and a sassy bent, gave him a cursory hug and immediately turned her attentions to Betty and Veronica.

 _“You,”_ Toni said, shaking Betty’s hand. “Are a dream, honey. _Way_ out of this loser’s league.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Jughead.

“Hey.”

Betty shook her hand warmly. “God, no. He’s amazing. Keeps me on my toes.” She threw him a saucy wink, which actually made Jughead blush madly, even as he laughed good-naturedly with the rest of his buddies.

Toni smirked. “Well, at least he’s doing something right.”

When Toni turned to Veronica, her demeanor changed completely. Her body language was one of aggressive pursuit. Her voice was just a hint silkier, their handshake just a tad longer, and when Veronica flipped her hair and leaned just a certain way, Betty knew a match was made.

It was, apparently, clear to everyone, because Jughead tapped Sweetpea’s shoulder consolingly. “Maybe next time, sport.”

Sweetpea scoffed. “Ain’t over yet, cap.”

And he wasn’t kidding. The rest of the evening, both Toni and Sweetpea spent their time vying for Veronica’s attentions, and Betty could see that her best friend was loving it.

There were others in the group, too—a young man named Fangs Fogarty who was Sweetpea’s bosom friend and a cheerful woman named Sabrina whose gaze lingered just a shade longer on Jughead’s face, but was ultimately genuinely friendly to both her and Veronica.

They all, at some point, called Jughead _Cap._

Betty later discovered that Joaquin and Toni were the only ones in Jughead’s flight. All the rest were groundsmen and under different captains. Jughead was, however, the highest ranked among them, and it was interesting to see them look to him for his opinion on various things.

Quirks aside, she couldn’t help but notice the grit so present in them all, how their stories were about life and chasing down fugitives, how their jokes were about growing up hustlers and being scrappy with their own siblings because there were less things in cupboards, money jars, shoes, jackets—everything.

However shared their experiences were, their personalities were distinct. Fangs liked the theater arts, Sabrina dabbled in mysticism, Toni was a photographer, Joaquin liked to tear houses down so he can rebuild them and flip them, and Sweetpea, with his desire to fight professionally, was training most hours in octagons when he wasn’t chasing down bounties.

Veronica, unabashedly, told them that her hobbies included horse riding and playing golf, which nobody took against her. It was perhaps her matter-of-fact tone that endeared her to them in the first place. She was rich as hell and she couldn’t pretend otherwise.

Betty knew that Jughead wrote fiction. She had seen him tap away at his laptop and he would tell her, casually, that he submitted his work on occasion to be published on magazines. He never quite told her where or if he even published in his name, but he’d let her read a couple of his work, and she had been impressed both times.

As she looked around the circle, she wasn’t sure if his friends knew this about Jughead. She didn’t volunteer the information and neither did he.

“Betty liked to blow stuff up, I was told,” Veronica said. “And she also liked to tear things apart then put them back together to make them better.”

She blushed as everyone seemed to find this hilarious. If it hadn’t been for her mother’s relentless insistence on keeping that veneer of the ideal Girl Next Door, she would have gone full-on geek. They hadn’t really gotten “rich” until she began high-school. Before that, they were closer to middle class.

It was still a more privileged life than most, but unlike the ultra-rich kids of whose circle she eventually got drawn into, she didn’t grow up talking about trust funds, real estate, and golf club memberships.

“Oh, like Cap, over here?” Sweetpea said, nudging Jughead’s shoulder. “You look like you’ve had an upgrade, Jones. Hangin’ out with classy ladies.”

Jughead held the edges of his coat open and her eyes trailed along the trim expanse of his torso. The suspenders, along with the gun vest he wore made her feel the tiniest bit heated. “What can I say? Betty makes me better. Don’t hate—appreciate.”

She realized that the heat she felt climbing further up her neck wasn’t just mild embarrassment. The surge of thoughts and feelings that his words brought was startling even to her.

_Betty makes me better._

She didn’t think he needed improving at all, but if he _thought_ that she made him better, even in the smallest way, she was on the edge of being emotionally compromised.

That his gaze gentled when he looked at her amidst the laughter scattered her thoughts.

When the stage performers paused in their singing to tell everyone that it was Betty’s birthday, the entire bar broke out in cheers and Betty laughed when Veronica came out of the kitchen with a small birthday cake shaped like a rocketship. She was then followed by half a dozen food carts that held hundreds of cupcakes, meant to share with the entire bar.

Betty eyed Jughead suspiciously. “Did you—“

“Veronica. I just got us through the doors,” Jughead said.

Betty figured as much. She wouldn’t put it past Jughead to make a grand gesture for her, but he was the sort who would do so in private. This was _all_ Veronica.

After Betty blew an inordinate amount of candles, Veronica threw her arms around her best friend. “I love you, B.”

Betty kissed Veronica’s cheek. “Love you, too, V.”

“I may disappear with Toni at some point,” she whispered in Betty’s ear. “She’s so incredibly hot.”

“I know, hon. You’re good. Go have fun and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“If you can walk.”

Before Betty could ask her what that was supposed to mean, Veronica had extracted herself to get a cupcake and share it with Toni.

The band broke out in a lively swinging beat and her heartbeat picked up in excitement.

Cowboys and their partners began dancing onto the floor, quick on their feet. Some of them were amazingly advanced with their moves.

Betty was captivated by how Fangs swept Sabrina into the dancing storm. Sweetpea took his turn to impress Veronica, urging her to dance with him. True to her nature, Veronica jumped right in with him.

Toni’s smirk was one of clear amusement. She knew who Veronica was leaving with.

Jughead grinned, shrugged off his coat, and loosened his tie.  He looked so dashing that Betty had to take a moment to appreciate how well he looked in gentleman’s clothing, too. He offered his hand, and she laughed.

“I don’t know if I can!”

He grinned. “Do you trust me?”

She absolutely did and took his hand. He pulled her to the dance floor and showed her another talent she never knew Jughead had—swing dancing.

She kept up, letting Jughead take her through the twirls and transitions, the slides and dips, and heart pounding twists that made her breathless.

Her laughter came easy and her smile was wider than it had ever been.

When the song ended in a blare of trumpets, Betty threw her arms around Jughead’s shoulders with a wide flourish, catching her breath as she blew hair off her eyes.

“Jughead, that was amazing!” Betty breathed. “Did you always know how to do that?”

He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “Come here often enough and you learn a thing or two, but JB helped me brush it up the last couple of weeks.”

She gasped, laughing at the image of Jellybean putting up with her brother. “When did you manage that?”

“Easy, babe. When you’re working on your engine, you’re laser focused on it.”

“I gotta get out more,” she muttered, realizing that perhaps she was a little _too_ focused on her work.

He grinned and squeezed her waist. “Never change.”

She rewarded him with a kiss.

The music slowed and Jughead swayed her gently in step. He took her hand and held it to his chest while he pulled her close.

Sighing, she looked up at him and smiled. “I’m really enjoying myself, Jones.”

“Good. I wanted your first birthday outside of Earth to be special. I didn’t want you to spend it at the Wyrm.”

She shrugged. “The Wyrm’s pretty special, by itself. I take care of it. It’s my baby.”

He grinned. “Well, mamma needed some time off.”

She giggled and kissed him. His response was unhurried and tinged with heat.

“I am so glad,” she said, softly, breathing against his lips, “that I chased your father down that day.”

They swayed to the music and she felt his hand squeeze hers. “Are you?”

The small bob of her head made their noses brush. “I have never felt so free to be myself.”

He looked her in the eyes, and for a moment, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “You know, that part of you that’s a princess, that’s you, too. You don’t have to be ashamed of it in front of my friends.”

Heat climbed up her face. “Am I that obvious?”

“It’s not a criticism, Betty,” he said, gently, and she realized he said that because her fingers had tensed in the grip of his hand. “I just don’t want you to think you have to hide any part of yourself. I—“

His pause made her hold her breath.

“I got drawn to you being who you are,” he finally continued. “Geeky, classy, bold… there’s no shame in who you are.”

She had never in her life felt so moved to tears with something so good. That sting she suddenly felt in her eyes was shocking even to her. Perhaps it was that all her life, she’d been told to steadfastly keep up appearances, to meticulously curate herself. She had been told that one side of her was more acceptable than the other, and she understood that everyone at some point had to follow the norms to thrive as a whole, but to have Jughead tell her that with him _and_ his friends, she could be _exactly_ who she wanted to be—it was too much.

She blinked away her tears. Instead she kissed him, languid and loving.

She couldn’t deny it to herself any much longer. She was desperately in love with Jughead Jones.

 

**********************

 

Jughead took her away from Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe and brought her to the nearest Five Seasons.

It wasn’t how she had expected her birthday celebration to end. Cosying up at the Whyte Wyrm would’ve been perfectly fine, but this was a nice surprise.

He had gotten them a suite, too, with a bucket of champagne by the bed, a little cart of pretty desserts and finger foods, and a tub.

“Jug,” she gasped, crossing the room to look at the beautiful bouquet of flowers accompanying the food cart. The long stemmed dark red roses were exquisite to behold. She hadn’t seen flowers in months.

She cupped one bud  in her hand, tracing her finger along the petals and cherishing the silky feel of it. Most of the thorns had been smoothed off from the top parts of the stem, but she sought the thorn at the bottom, pressing the pad of her finger over the point of it. It still baffled her how pain gave her relief. Release.

“Careful,” he whispered in her ear, having come up behind her.

She turned around and slipped her arms over his shoulders. “They’re beautiful. You remembered how I missed them.”

“Of course I do. Out there in the 3rd and 4th, I often wish I could just pick up a bouquet for you.” He ran his fingers along the bare skin of her back. “You deserve fresh flowers, princess.”

She bit her lip, wondering if he was ready to hear what was in her heart. Instead, she said, “Jug, this is so wonderful and I don’t mind telling you sleeping on 3000-thread count Feyjxynian cotton is a treat beyond my wild imaginings of this night, but all this—I know how hard we all work…”

She didn’t want to insult him. They’ve been having great runs the past few weeks and she knew they all had some disposable income to spare, but out there in barren space, it was always prudent to have an emergency stash, in the instance that bounties grew scarce for a couple of months, which happened often enough.

She wouldn’t have wanted him to blow all his savings. She didn’t want him to think that he needed to spend money to make her happy because he thought that was what she was used to.

His faint smile was one of amusement. “Like I would’ve paid full price for this room. This is a hookup.”

Relief began to ease her anxieties. “It is?”

He nodded, kissing her shoulders in slow, soft kisses. The warmth of his breath sent shivers through her. “I made a lot of friends at the Def Cor. The guy who runs security in this place is—well, _good_ friends with the hotel’s general manager.”

She chuckled. “So they’re banging.”

“Yep.”

She grinned, leaning into him and trailing her own lips up his throat.

Tracing the opening of his coat, she pushed it off his shoulders and he let her, letting it slip down his arms where his hand caught it. He tossed it easily over the back of a chair. Her fingers trailed over his gun and the vest holding it. She began to unbuckle that, too.

She breathed in his scent, of cologne mingling with his body chemistry. It always made her want him.

Impulsively, she snapped his suspenders and they made a pert sound against his chest. His small hiss made her smile with satisfaction.

He chuckled. “You liked that?”

Wordlessly, she nodded, her eyes never leaving his.

“I liked that, too,” he said, tracing the v of her collar. “But first, presents.”

She couldn’t help but arch her eyebrow in surprise. “I thought this entire night was my birthday present.”

Taking both her hands in his, he sat her on the edge of the plush king sized bed. “There are a couple more things.”

He went to the food cart and reached beneath the skirt, pulling out two familiar packages. They were the two bags Veronica had given him at cargo bay.

She should’ve known they weren’t exactly for him.

Sitting with her, he gave her one of the bags.

“It’s just a silly thing,” he said, suddenly shy.

Honestly, anything he could give her would be special. He could’ve gotten her a hairdryer and she would’ve loved it.

Excitedly, she dug into the bag and pushed back the decorative tissues. Inside, she felt for the gift. It had the feel of a book, but when she pulled it out, it was a leather bound box with the words “DON’T PANIC!”  branded on the front of it.

She let out an involuntary squeak as she threw the lid open. Tucked in perfectly sized compartments was the _Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ and its accompanying survivor’s kit.

“Juggie! _This_ is an original Babelfish! And these are real homing rings—tell me they are.”

He nodded. “I’m told they are. They’ll work up to 5,000 leagues. And if anything, you’ll always have a cosy tea towel. The Babelfish works. It can replace the translator you have now—I know you’ve complained about it.”

She laughed and picked up the book. It was a first edition. It certainly looked old enough. Carefully, she opened it to the first page and true enough, Douglas Adams’ signature was on it. A card fell out and when she opened it, she saw Jughead’s familiar handwriting.

_To my 42._

She bit her lip, her emotions welling. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

“Jughead.” She pushed the kit aside and cupped his face in her hands, pressing her lips onto his. He pulled her closer by her arms and they kissed slowly, the gentle flick of his tongue undemanding and sweet. When they separated, she didn’t dare open her eyes when she asked. “Do you mean it? That I’m your 42?”

He nodded, their lips brushing. “Yes. I love you, Betty Cooper.”

A smile broke from her lips even as she kissed him. “Juggie, you’ve made me so happy. I love you, too. So much.”

His kiss was bruising, this time, and she grew excited at the thought that they can spend an entire night making love in a gigantic bed, expressing their feelings with their bodies and words, spoken without fear of being overheard.

“Baby,” he breathed as she began to slide off his gun vest and tie. “I want you.”

“I know. I want you, too. Desperately.”

He chuckled. “But there’s one last thing…”

“Unless that one last thing is your body, I want no part of it.” Feverishly, she slipped off her top to reveal the lacy pink bustier.

The way his eyes raked over the swells of her breasts and the way hands molded over the curves of her waist made her think that she had him where she wanted him, but in spite of the lust darkening his eyes, he said, “You’re going to like what I have for you.”

She couldn’t imagine.

He picked up the last package and gave it to her. This had to be good.

Again, there was a box inside, and as she pulled it out, the sleek black and pink packaging lanced desire through her.

She slid the box open and her breath caught.

The black leather cuffs were cushioned for maximum comfort. Beside it was a black blindfold, and in a separate panel was a jar of massage oil and a colorless soy candle.

She swallowed in excitement. “Is this how you want to play tonight?”

He caressed her forearm. “I should be asking _you_ that question. Veronica gave this to me and told me to give it to you, and that you’d know what to do with it. This, she said, was her present to me for kicking Archie’s ass.”

Betty bit her lip to stifle a laugh, both at Archie’s bruised ego and Veronica’s enablist heart. Veronica was right, of course. She knew what to do with these. They’d talked about temperature play, because she and Veronica talk about everything. She’d told Veronica how Jughead liked to be in control, but that sometimes they liked to switch.

Veronica was always glad to sponsor decadent delights.

“Are you going to wear these handcuffs for me, Juggie?” she asked, her tone taking on a firmer lilt. She reached over to unbutton his shirt and touch the dog tags on his chest. She tugged the chain a little less gently. “Are you going to let me drip hot wax on your skin?”

His breath hitched and he slid to the floor on his knees. “God, yes.” He looked up at her, tentatively running his hands up her knees and pushing her skirt higher up her thighs. “I want you to do what you want with me.”

Her heartbeat surged. She was ready to just toss everything aside and drag his face between her thighs, but she wanted him to enjoy this, too, and she knew what her man wanted.

She pulled away from him and he moaned in complaint.

“Take off your clothes,” she said, standing above him as she set the box aside and began to undo the rest of her dress.

He watched, mesmerized, as her dress pooled to her ankles, revealing her lacy g-string panties. She stepped out of the pile of pink, still in her strappy heels.

“I don’t see you undressing, Jones,” she said, pertly.

Blinking out of his reverie, he slipped out of his gun vest and suspenders, then he began undoing the rest of his buttons. He removed his blouse, revealing his trim and lightly muscled torso while his tags dangled delectably over his defined pecs. She loved the shape of his arms and the beautiful line of hair that went from beneath his belly button and disappeared down the waist of his pants.

He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks so he could get out of his pants more smoothly. His boxer shorts did nothing to hide his erection and she could feel her cunt aching for him.

She walked towards him and combed her fingers through his hair. “What’s your safeword, Juggie?”

“Helter Skelter.”

She smiled, dragging a fingernail along the line of his jaw. “Good, and are you going to do as I say tonight?”

He nodded and saw his hand twitch, stopping himself from running it up her leg.

“You can touch me, Jughead.”

He lost no time, sliding both his hands up her legs to end at her waist. His nose nudged lightly against her skin before he began to press kisses around her belly button.

She let him, watching his lips worship her, tasting the salt of her skin. After a few more seconds, she told him, enough. He groaned in mild complaint but didn’t insist.

“Put your condoms in the box and get on the bed on your back.”

Quickly, he complied, snatching up his pants and tossing the condoms he had alongside the candle, cuffs, and blindfold. Then he got on the bed, lying back on the pillows and following her with his eyes as she took her box of goodies and climbed over him, straddling his body on each side.

Taking the handcuffs, she wrapped one around his wrist, then leaning over his body, she pushed his arms up so she could loop the chain though the bed railings and cuff his other wrist.

She could feel his breath on her breasts, puffs of heat snaking through her bustier. She could move higher up his body on her knees, but she wanted him close. She wanted to feel him on her skin.

“You smell good,” he whispered.

“I picked this perfume just for you. You once told me you loved it on me.”

The look on his eyes was one of disarming gratitude. Whenever he looked at her that way, it gave her a pang, because didn’t anyone else do anything _for_ him in the past?

“Haven’t you realized it, yet?” she whispered in his ear. “I will do things for you because you’re so good to me, too.”

His answering hum was accompanied by the rasp of his teeth against the lobe of her ear. It made her purr back in response.

It took a lot of her will power not to just do away with the ceremonies and just ride him into oblivion, but she told herself that this drawn out play would make the experience better for them both.

And it would be a shame for this wonderful privacy to go to waste. She wanted to make the most out of everything he had set up.

She finished with his other wrist and his hands shifted, grasping the chains. She could see the muscles on his arms tightening slightly.

As if to test the restraints, she leaned over and kissed him, slipping her tongue between his lips to tangle it with his. He let out a soft moan, his neck straining so he could lift his head higher, wanting to deepen their kiss.

When she pulled away, it was so she could move lower down his body and she could straddle his cock through his underwear.

His hips thrust upward, and she felt that delicious pressure between her legs. Their combined moans spread heat throughout Betty’s entire body, especially knowing that they both wanted it.

“I want to enjoy you,” she said, taking the blindfold from the box. “I want to make you feel things.”

His dark eyes were almost pleading, and his breathing was more ragged. “I want to see you.”

“You will,” she whispered, slipping the blindfold over his eyes and tightening the ties that held it. The sight of his beautiful body handcuffed to the bed, with a black blindfold across his face and over his eyes made her want to fuck him right then, but she had plans, and she wanted to hold off for as long as she can take it.

She slipped off him and picked up a chocolate covered strawberry from the tray.

She straddled him again, and delicately, she took the strawberry by its stem and ran it softly along the bridge of his nose and down to its tip, making sure he caught a whiff of the strawberry and chocolate.

“Do you want to taste?” she asked, feathering the chocolate against his lips.

He licked it and she made him bite. The red juices of the strawberry dribbled down one side of his mouth and she caught it with her finger, wiping it clean and tasting it herself.

“Good?”

He nodded. “So good.”

She took a bite of the strawberry herself and tasted the delicious tang mixing with the decadent chocolate. She hummed in appreciation, and as she finished her bite, she leaned over and kissed him.

The taste of chocolate mixed between them, and the feel of his tongue, the softness of his lips, and the feather of hot breath warming them both felt like the personification of chocolate and its heavenly taste.

If life were always so good, there would always be a reason to live well and dream big.

He took to the kiss like breath to a drowning man, relishing the contact, wanting more, but again she pulled away. This time, she pulled off his underwear, and when his dick sprung free, she marveled at its perfect shape, at how her fingers barely circled it as she took it in her grip.

His hips lifted as he thrust himself in her hand, the moan leaving his throat deep and tortured. When she took him into her mouth, he hissed and swore. When she pulled back and dragged her tongue along his length, he threw his head back in the pillows.

“Oh, baby, please keep doing that,” he implored.

She pumped him with her hand and his groan of pleasure rumbled long and low.

Taking him in her mouth again, she relished the sounds he was making at every movement of her tongue, sucking him as she pulled away, and taking him deep when she took him again. When she felt him tense, she removed herself and splayed her hands on his stomach.

His growl of frustration rolled through his body. “Dammit.”

“I want to come, Juggie,” she said, reaching for massage oil and unscrewing the cap. “That’s not going to happen if you come first.”

“Let me go and I’ll make you come over and over.” He said it like a dark promise.

She wondered, then, if he was _really_ asking to be let go. “You know what to say and we’ll lose the cuffs.”

He paused for a heartbeat, and for a moment she thought he was going to say the safe word, but he swallowed and shook his head. “Make me feel more.”

She smirked. She took off her heels and when her feet were free, she took the candle and lit it with the accompanying matches. Gently, she set the candle aside to make the wax pool. As she let the flame gather wax, she took some of the oil and rubbed it over his abs and chest.

It was a gentle massage, kneading the scented oil into his skin. His sigh of contentment grew deeper as she increased pressure where he might like it. She moved her hands up his arms and worked the oil into his skin, but just in case he began to feel too relaxed, she leaned over him to lick his nipples.

His whispered _baby_ felt intimate and loving. His groan, accompanied by the twitching of his cock, told her that she still had him. And just for that she wanted to take off her panties and take him in her, but the best part was yet to come.

When the oil was properly worked into his skin, she took up the candle and poured a little wax onto her wrist.

The sting of the heat was immediate and she hissed, but it spread through her body in tingles. Her center grew even wetter.

Kneeling beside him on the bed, she dribbled a few careful drops on his abdomen.

He hissed and jerked slightly, and as the wax cooled, she smoothed her fingers over it, removing the crusted wax.

“Okay?” she asked, gently.

He nodded. “Do it again. Do it more.”

Biting her lip, she praised him for being so good to her. Slowly, she dripped more wax on him, carefully avoiding the happy trail beneath his belly button while she made her way up his body.

His body reacted to each drop, and as she dropped more unto the same spot on his chest, his breathing became more rapid and his cock throbbed.

When the wax began to harden, she took a cube of ice from the nearby bucket of champagne and ran it slowly around the hot spots.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, his skin and breathing reacting to the contrasting temperatures. “I want you so bad.”

“How bad?” She brushed off the hardened wax, gently flicking his nipples.

“I want to taste you.”

Excitement rippled through her body. “What if I still want you to be handcuffed?”

“Then keep me handcuffed. Please, Betty.” He lifted his chin. “Please.”

She controlled her breathing, wondering about how he didn’t have to do much to get her off.

She took a few more minutes, dripping wax on him and cooling it with ice, and the whole time his breathing grew more rapid, while his pleas became more desperate.

When she felt that he had gotten wound up enough, she blew out the candle and set it aside. Carefully, she slipped her panties off, tossing it aside, then she turned as she straddled him, so that her backside was to him and she was staring at his dick.

Blindfolded as he was, he easily cottoned on to what she intended to do.

“Oh, God, yes,” he breathed.

As she tilted her hips to position her pussy over his lips, she took his dick in her hand and lowered her mouth over it. His moan sounded as she felt his tongue and lips drag along her folds, which made her cry out even as her mouth took him in.

It was almost impossible to concentrate on pleasuring him when his own tongue was coaxing her desire, and for a few blessed minutes, it felt like a battle of wills.

Then the bed frame gave a soft shriek, a sound that came only from the grinding of metal against metal as he pulled desperately at his cuffs.

She knew then he wanted to use his hands and that feeling of control washed over her and went straight to her center.

He must have felt it, the edge he gained in the tug of tongues, because he dipped his tongue inside her and whirled it around.

Gasping and trying to gain back the momentum she built, she found herself helpless against the onslaught of her oncoming climax, even as she gripped his length and pumped as she went.

She pushed herself up on her hand and found herself rolling her hips over his mouth. When his mouth caught her clit and his tongue pressed on it, she came, a blinding light overcoming her senses as she screamed his name.

His tongue combined with the roll of her hips worked her through it, and when the high waned to a gentler buzz of desire, she crawled lower down his body as she caught her breath.

She looked over her shoulder at him, his smirk of triumph both tantalizing and challenging.

“That was good, cowboy,” she breathed. “You always know how to please me.”

The grills shrieked again. “I want to touch you. Let me touch you.”

She hummed. “Not yet.”

His answering groan and the lifting of his hips made her smirk all her own.

“But you’ve been so good,” she continued. “That I’ll let you see me.”

She peeled off his blindfold, and his blue eyes were so dark and desperate that the desire inside her flared anew.

“You’re so brilliant, princess,” he sighed. “I can’t get enough of you.”

It never failed to make her blush when he praised her like that. Even in this set up, she knew he meant it, because he was always so generous in complimenting her work. He always expressed his pride of her to others, too, which always ended up with him underneath her as she rode his dick to climax.

Positive fucking reinforcement.

Slowly, she began to unhook her bustier from behind, and when it fell away, she tossed it aside.

The telltale whine of chain against railing sounded and it made her chuckle softly. When she picked up a condom from the box, his groan of anticipation was satisfying.

She showed him, over her shoulder, how she tore the foil with her teeth and fingers, then she took the condom and rolled it over his cock. It caused another moan and hip thrust.

Rising up on her knees, she scooted forward, her back still to him, and when she was positioned, she lowered herself onto him and slid him inside her.

The sensations were explosive and their cries mingled.

“Holy fuck, Betts,” he gasped, taking deep breaths, possibly to calm himself down.

She rolled her hips and pleasure coursed through her body. Again, his answering moan was deliciously tortured, so she did it again, and she began to go into a rhythm.

“Princess,” he choked. “That feels amazing.”

She whimpered in agreement, riding him as she ran her hands along her nape and between her breasts, along her outer thighs and up through her hair.

If he can’t touch her, she was going to be sensual for his eyes. She looked over her shoulder, showing him how she was gasping and closing her eyes.

“You look so good, baby,” he breathed. “So, so good.”

She gave a drawn out moan. “You’re going to make me come.”

His response was to thrust his hips harder. “I want you to.”

The feel of his cock sliding in and out of her, coupled with the force of his body hitting and lifting hers sent vibrations to her clit and spasms of pleasure through her body.

It didn’t take much for her fingers when she rubbed her clit with them. She shattered, crying his name as she let him thrust into her to work her to completion.

As she breathed to recover, he asked her again if he could touch her.

He wasn’t saying the safe word, which meant he still liked her having control. He was enjoying this role reversal so she had to make sure she was satisfying him as much as it was satisfying her.

She turned, straddling him still, and she began to undo a cuff. He whispered praise and gratitude, promising to make her feel even better, with his hands freed.

“Just one,” she told him, releasing one of his wrists but immediately securing the other cuff to the post.

The drawn out moan he let out could have been of frustration, but his free hand immediately cupped her breast and he was able to lift himself further from the waist so he could catch one of her nipples with his mouth.

She didn’t chastise him for his brazeness, combing her fingers through his thick hair to keep him where he was. His tongue sliding around her nipple was sending shockwaves of pleasure through her.

Even in control, she had always been a gentle mistress.

When she pulled away from him, he blinked up at her with lust-hazed eyes.

“Sit up,” she said.

With one hand bound to the bed, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. He still had to lean back against the headboard, but his free hand gave him more mobility. She slipped her arms over his shoulders and secured herself on his lap, and when she slid him into her in this new position, his unhampered hand gripped her thigh with near-painful pressure.

When she moved against him, rocking her hips to a steady cadence, he groaned as he pressed his mouth over her throat, licking the dips and hollows that came and went with her movements.

He filled her so well, and his body hitting her clit had her moaning sinful notes.

His grip set her to a certain rhythm, and the thought that he was trying to gain control did fire her pleasure. When he slapped her ass, it sent her keening.

“Juggie, do it again,” she pleaded, tilting his chin up so she could kiss him and push her tongue into his mouth.

His hand rubbed the spot that still stung wonderfully from his palm, easing the heated skin, before he slapped her again.

Her answering whine was coupled with her hips rocking faster. She was hurtling to an orgasm and she told him so.

The explosion of pleasure from the pounding of their hips had her throwing her head back and crying out. His praises faded into the background as her climax swelled and then slowly, gradually came down.

“Oh, Juggie,” she breathed, slipping to his side, limp and gasping as she laid her head on the pillow. “I like it best when you’re this close. It feels so goddamn good.”

He rolled over, turning his wrist in his cuff so that she was under him. The strength of his one free arm adjusted her so that he was flush between the embrace of her thighs.

He kissed her, gently this time. “Helter Skelter.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her mouth to his, deepening the kiss with the angle of her chin.

When they separated, she reached up to help him out of the remaining cuff, and when he was free, he slid into her, slowly thrusting in and out of her as he whispered sweet promises in her ear.

The game was over the moment he said his safeword and she knew that his promises were real. Something more than pleasure fluttered inside her as he moved in and out of her.

He stared into her eyes as he angled his hips, lifting her thigh to secure her to him. “I love you.”

“I know, Juggie,” she said, cupping his face in her hands and knowing why he was telling her this. He was asking permission. “Fuck me harder, love. I know you want to.”

He groaned and kissed her hard, and after that, he was pounding into her, hard and rough. His body hit her clit relentlessly and her instant climax made her scream.

He relished being able to make her come so quickly, and he gasped words of loving appreciation, as if it was all her doing.

She was moving up the bed—he was thrusting so hard. She had to raise her arms and push against the headboard to keep her in place.

“I’m coming, baby,” he finally gasped. “I’m gonna come hard.”

“Come hard for me, Jug,” she gasped, her voice rough with exertion. She didn’t even tell him, doubted that she needed to, that she was going to join his tumble into the sweet abyss.

When he made that strangled sound, and when his hips thrust deep, his cadence lost to stuttering heaves, her explosion of pleasure overtook her senses.

Their combined cries rang through the room, and as they moved against each other to completion, Betty gasped, over and over again, that she loved him, and that she was his.

 

************************

 

Betty ran the bath, filling it with bubbles using the bath products provided by the hotel. The temperature was perfect, and because she had cuffed him to the bed, she insisted on taking care of him.

She had him lying back against her chest, her knees drawn up on both sides of him. His hands played gently with the water, smoothing over her knee and leg.

She smiled as she did the same on his chest and abdomen.

The weight of him was pleasant against her body and she sighed in clear contentment. “Relax. Let me do this for you.”

He craned his neck to look up her. “There is no one luckier than me right now.”

Giggling, she pecked a kiss on his brow. “Silly. I’m the lucky one. I’ve never had a birthday quite like this.”

A wrinkle appeared between his brows as he scowled. “Never? That _almost_ makes me mad. What the fuck was Archie doing for you, then?”

She stifled a laugh. “You mean when he didn’t forget?”

“He’s a jerk. I’m so happy you’re not with him anymore.”

This time she did laugh. “Me, too. Although I’m glad to report that Veronica always made my birthdays feel special. In her own way.”

“She’s still doing it, I think,” he said, gesturing to the box of goodies.

She smiled down at him, running some water through his hair. They stayed quiet for a while, just enjoying the feel of one another.

When the water began to cool, they stepped out and dried themselves, and then they slipped under the covers, naked. They slept cuddled against one another, the warmth keeping them deeply asleep.

When Betty woke early the next morning, Jughead was already staring at her adoringly through beautiful, sleepy eyes.

She was still half asleep when he started kissing her, but incredibly wet for him by the time he thrust himself into her.

When they were daring and kinky, she loved it, but when they made slow love like this, where his words were tender and his movements were meant to savor the sensations and sounds between them, she cherished it. She never wanted to lose this deep intimacy. She would always come back to it amidst the excitement of handcuffs, candles, and sex in public places.

Coming for him when he made love to her this way always resulted in a long and drawn out orgasm. He loved bringing her to climax this way. He loved hearing it, feeling it, and watching it. It was what pushed him over the edge, too, and they always finished melting into one another’s arms, each other’s names on their lips.

 

*********************

 

Veronica was grinning when she picked up Betty to bring her to the nearest spa. “Your man sent me flowers this morning, you know. I take it you had an amazing night.”

Betty arched an eyebrow in surprise before she took in the full meaning of Veronica’s words. She chuckled as she settled into Veronica’s luxurious transport and took a moment to enjoy the memory of her night at the Five Seasons with Jughead Jones.

Her own smile said it all and Veronica, in her infinite wisdom, said that she didn’t need to know the details. “Just tell me if it was the best you’ve ever had with him.”

“It was the best I’ve ever had with him,” Betty replied without hesitation.

Veronica clapped. “Perfection! Okay, that’s the last we’ll ever make mention of men all day, _capiche_?”

Betty laughed. _“Capiche.”_

True to her word, Veronica talked about Toni and the wonderful ways she made Veronica’s first foray into space an unforgettable experience.

As the day progressed, they talked about their mothers and their dreams, then they made grand plans about conquering the galaxy and becoming Persons of the Year on Earth.

They laughed about their flights of fancy but knew deep down that they were both shooting for—as the saying went, Andromeda, so that if they fall short of it, they’d have at least made it at the Milky Way.

The spa was followed by lunch and then shopping, both places being the galactic equivalent of a podunk cafe and sad stripmall, but because she was with Veronica, it felt like being on a road trip, with everything looking better through sheer possibility.

At the end of the day, Betty and Veronica hugged long and hard at the Wyrm’s ship bay, tears streaming down both their faces, sobbing and laughing at the absurdity of their goodbyes.

“It’s not like we can’t talk over the comm,” Betty reasoned tearfully.

Veronica hiccuped. “You know it’s not the same, B.”

Betty nodded. She knew.

Veronica made her vehemently promise to be careful, and when she looked over Betty’s shoulder, she made Jughead promise to look out for her.

Jughead, who had been watching it all, probably with affectionate amusement, gave her a salute. “Def Cor’s honor.”

“Thank you,” Veronica said with a pert nod. “And I love the flowers, Jones. Very classy.”

He cocked a grin but said nothing, even as his father and Jellybean shot him questioning looks.

When finally, Veronica left in her transport, Betty sighed as she watched her best friend disappear into a dot in space.

Wiping her face furiously with the back of her hand, she stayed at ship bay watching the planets and nebula float by.

When she felt Jughead drape his arm over her shoulders, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. FP and Jellybean have long gone back into the ship and she relished the privacy they had.  

“Thank you, Juggie.” Because if he hadn’t cared so much, she might not have seen her best friend for another six months.

He kissed the top of her head. “You’re welcome, Betts.”

They stayed there for a while in companionable silence until FP’s voice filtered through the overhead speaker.

“All crew to the bridge. We’re heading for the wormhole to the 4th in 20 minutes. Destination: Peitho.”

Jughead took a deep breath.

And just like that, they were back to work.

She looked up at him. “You ready, Jughead?”

He gave her a tight smile and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

 

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those who know me know the pattern.


	3. The Bounty Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA:
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING for graphic violence. They will be shooting at people, and that's not even the worst of it.
> 
> If you're sensitive to these things, please proceed with caution from "The street wasn’t completely dead."
> 
> And when you get to "The rain poured and screams punctured the air," know that this is where it will get really hairy. 
> 
> If none of these things faze you, I hope you like this next installment!

 

 

Peitho was a hostile planet in many ways.

Getting to it, alone, meant a ship had to drive through a massive asteroid field. Of course, ships can go around it, but that required another 3 months of travel. Cutting through the field took only 3 hours of constant vigilance and skilled flight, but the risk of an asteroid crashing into one’s ship was considerable.

It had taken strategy and argumentation to get them to this point, driving into the ocean of floating and tumbling mountains, because Betty had been adamant about preserving the ship’s integrity and ultimately, the crew.

 

**************

“Force fields are always a drain on gestalt,” Betty had warned them. “The less hits we take, the longer it’ll last. I’m allotting a couple of cells to it. That’s as much as I can spare for the shield. If I give it more, we might lose the power we need to fly the ship. We can replenish our gestalt when we’re through to Peitho—it’s the first thing we have to do before we go after the bounty.”

Jughead and FP had looked at one another, their eyebrows arched in unison. They both knew that taking the time to “gas up” was time they couldn’t afford to give the bounty.

“If you allot only one cell to the shield, can we do away with replenishment?” FP had asked.

Betty had looked horrified. “That’s too little. I risk assessed and did predictive calculations on flying through that asteroid field and we can only take a certain number of hits before the shield fails. I’ve cut the probabilities down to the barest minimum and assumed that Jughead’s flying will get us through it in one piece! We can’t cut the shield power in half. We’ll be torn apart.”

“Can you predict a path with the lowest asteroid impact probability?” Jughead had asked.

She shot him a look, almost insulted. “Of course. I already have the algorithm ready to go.”

Jughead had to keep from grinning. “Okay then. That’ll get us through.”

“That’s not enough,” Betty had insisted. She wasn’t a pessimistic person by nature, so Jughead knew she wasn’t exaggerating.

“If we intercept incoming asteroids, would that help?” Jughead suggested.

Betty had paused to give it thought. “I suppose… the photon beams have their own independent powersource. That’ll take skill, though—“

Jellybean snorted. “I’m 3-time Quadrant Champion at the _Kill, Kill, Kill_ virtual gamer tournaments. I’ve got it.”

Hotdog punctuated this with a bark.

Everyone turned to Jellybean in surprise.

“You are?” Jughead asked, shocked.

“Please, bitch. No one has even come close to beating me.”

“JB,” FP warned. He didn’t like it when his kids called each other names, which was, given the circumstances, laughably unimportant.

“Alright then,” Jughead said, turning to Betty for her approval.

She still looked somewhat unconvinced. “Photons fire long range. The moment an asteroid passes a certain threshold, the beams couldn’t reach—“

“We have a rover,” FP said. “It’s multi-purpose. We use it to repair surface damage while in transit _and_ it can serve as a 360 bird’s nest. I can shoot incoming asteroids past the photon threshold.”

Betty’s jaw dropped. “A rover. In an asteroid field. That’s madness.”

“It’s under the force field. I’ll be fine.”

Betty’s lips pursed. “Fine is what I say when I’m anything _but_ , FP. You can’t—“

“Kid, you worry too much. We’re cowboys. Yee haw, right?”

“I’ll yee haw you one if you get fucking killed,” she muttered, turning back to her dashboard. “ _Fine_ . One cell. Jesus christ. I’ll tell you that the _old_ Betty never would’ve agreed with this. You are all a bad influence on me. I swear to fucken—“

Jughead exchanged amused grins with his father. With the argument settled, they disbanded, and Jughead pressed his hand to her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, though she didn’t shake him off.

“You gotta believe in us, too, princess,” he said, cocking a grin. He meant it. They had the skills to make it through.

She heaved a loud sigh and looked up at him. “I don’t want anyone to get killed.”

“Our plan will work.”

“You cowboys are a little bit crazy, you know that, don’t you?”

Still grinning he crouched to her eye level. “We aim to misbehave.”

She tilted her gaze at him and saw her green eyes darken.

The next minute, Betty and Jughead were cramped in the nearby supply closet and Jughead was fucking her doggie style against the shelves, whispering with furious sexual fervency that he was a _bad, bad_ cowboy and that she wanted it no other way.

**************

And that’s how Jughead convinced Betty to go through with this insane plan. At least, that’s what he liked to think.

They were going to be fine.

He had skill in spades and he’d spent longer hours staying vigilant in arguably more hostile environments, but it helped that Betty had the system smarts to project asteroid trajectories and keep the risk to a minimum. It was also to their advantage that Jellybean was well practiced at first-person shooter games (according to her), which enabled her to fire photon rays at oncoming asteroids that they couldn’t avoid.

FP took to the outer bird’s nest, where he hovered perilously over the ship’s surface, attached by the rover’s magnetic field. And when all else failed, they had a backup forcefield that could deflect direct impact. Absolutely the last line of defense.

With their plan in place and their fates sealed in the asteroid belt, they just had to keep their game faces on.

An hour and a half through the ordeal, Jellybean had to explode 2 asteroids and FP one. Jughead was flying skillfully through with Betty’s navigation algorithm guiding him.

When they reached the two and a half hour mark, Betty gave the alert.

“This is it. The most dangerous part of the field. We’re going to take hits and there isn’t much we can do about it except minimize those hits as much as we could. FP, you need to dock when I tell you to dock, got it?”

“Got it,” FP said through the overhead feed.

Betty looked at Jughead and Jellybean. “Ready?”

Jughead nodded.

“Fight!” Jellybean whooped.

Hotdog gave several excited barks, harnessed to the captain’s chair.

And they went in.

It was chaos as soon as they hit the inner ring.

Jughead maneuvered his way through the field, making quick evasions and swerving to avoid oncoming asteroids. Smaller debris was peppering the ship and Jellybean was hyper focused on shooting down the biggest rocks. Betty tried to relay targets as quickly as she could to FP while feeding Jughead coordinates on this path.

They were doing well until Jellybean yelled “Incoming!”

“Brace for impact,” Betty said as calmly as she could.

The first asteroid hit and Jughead cursed as the rock knocked the ship slightly off balance.

“Shield is holding!” Betty reported quickly. “FP! Status!”

“All clear! But that was a big one! I couldn’t shoot it down.”

“All systems are secure,” Betty said. “Carry on, Jug!”

Jughead followed the chaotic flight path and evaded more asteroids.

They took a couple more big hits as they flew further in and the debris was relentless.

Betty watched with bated breath as their force field drained the cell allotted to it.

It was getting dangerously low. “We’re tapping out faster than I’d like. New path, Jug!”

Her fingers flew over the dash, feeding Jughead a new way.

“That’ll take longer, princess.”

“It’s safer!” Betty cried. “I’ll route another cell—“

“That’s gestalt we can’t use,” Jughead said, punching the codes on the dash to revert back to Betty’s earlier path. “We’re taking the shorter route.”

“Shit,” Betty hissed, going back to her calculations as Jellybean laughed and cried “Yeehaw!”

Hotdog gave a worried whine.

“FP, dock _now!”_ Betty cried over the radio. “Dock your—“

“What’s the status on the shield?” FP asked.

“We’re down to 30 percent. I swear to fucking God, FP—“

“Tell me when it’s at 5.”

_“FP!”_

The ship rocked and Jellybean was firing the photons at a rapid pace.

Jughead felt his adrenaline rushing. He was totally in his element. A gigantic rock loomed in the distance and was coming fast. “Hold on!”

He swerved, avoiding two other incoming asteroids that made Betty shriek.

“Goddammit, Jughead!” she screamed, frantically adjusting her calculations. “Fuck it! New route! Take it! It’s just as fast!”

Jellybean laughed. “Rock on!”

 _“Don’t say that!”_ Betty yelled.

Jughead grinned, swooping in and out of pinhole throughways and oncoming asteroids.

Betty kept muttering curses as they went flying through and FP was laughing through the overhead.

“Atta boy!”

“Stop encouraging him! You’re his father for fuck’s sake!”

The asteroids crisscrossed in front of them and Jughead shot right through.

“5 percent! 5 percent FP, get in here or I am coming out to get you!”

“Alright, alright! I’m docking!”

Jughead avoided a rock but another one came hurtling at them. _“Hold on!”_

The ship turned, Hotdog howled, and they were upside down. Two heartstopping minutes later, they were upright once more, descending like a rollercoaster.

Then there was nothing but space.

 

********************

 

Betty pried her eyes open, gasping.

They were alive.

The alerts were beeping on her dashboard like mad, but they were alive. In one piece. She couldn’t believe it.

Jughead unbuckled himself and jumped out if his seat, giving a loud whoop of triumph. “Damn, I’m good!”

Hotdog barked and the beat of his wagging tail thumped through the room.

“FP,” Betty whispered. “FP! Do you read me? Are you there? FP!”

“Simmer down,” FP said with a groan. “I’m here. I’m alright. _Boy,_ that last one—“

“Was _amazing!”_ Jellybean cried, jumping out of her seat and running to her brother for a full on shoulder bump, both of them dissolving into  fits of laughter.

Betty was too relieved and shocked to get mad. “We can’t do this again. We can’t.”

She can only think that there was a wormhole on _this_ side of the asteroid belt that can take them _out_ of here.

She wondered momentarily why there wasn’t a wormhole coming _in,_ then again, the Vesturian star system, where Peitho was, wasn’t really the sort of place anyone wanted to go _to._

“Hey,” Jughead said, smirking as he nudged her back from her mild catatonia. “You okay?”

“I ought to deny you sex.”

Jellybean backed away and headed for the doors. “Didn’t just hear that.” She left, forgetting Hotdog who was whimpering in his harness.

“Yeah, can you turn off the radio?” FP said overhead.

Jughead switched the speaker off and crouched by her side. “Betty.”

She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shook him mildly. “You Joneses are insane.”

Jughead laughed and rubbed both her knees. “I think you like that about us.”

She growled and let him go. “Go away.”

 _“Come on._ Admit it. You were impressed. Hell, I impressed _myself.”_

She wasn’t going to lie. That was spectacular. He had gotten them through and he was barely fazed. All systems were functional and any damage, if at all, seemed minimal.

Still, she felt that on principal, she shouldn’t be encouraging him.

“And _you,”_ Jughead went on, his hand wandering up her waist and through the gaps of her jumper. “Were phenomenal.”

She gave a huff. “I was. I calculated the shit out of that field and I am the goddamn queen of asteroid trajectory.”

He chuckled. “I love it when you—“

“Um, kids. I’m still here.”

Jughead pursed his lips and Betty found herself stifling a giggle as she punched the codes to the manual override that she figured Jughead had failed to access earlier.

“Talk to you later, FP,” Betty said.

“Later.”

And Betty hit the ENTER key to cut the radio signal off.

 

****************

 

They weren’t landing the Wyrm at Peitho. It was too dangerous. They were keeping the ship above Peitho’s stratosphere to avoid both the acid storms and the never dowells who had a habit of taking anything that wasn’t nailed down to the ground.

They were taking the Chopper to the ground while Jellybean fed information to them from the ship. At the very least, if someone jacked the Chopper, Jellybean was capable of swooping in and picking them up.

Jughead was at weapons bay, arming himself with his handguns as well as a rifle.

Visitors to Peitho would do well not to feign casual disregard. When landing in Peitho, looking as dangerous as possible was recommended, which was why he wasn’t hiding his guns.

He checked his kevlar and dug into his vest for his clips. Looking at himself in the mirror, he looked as heavy as he felt, weighed down by armor and weaponry.

His black shirt was the only light piece of clothing he had on. The rest were clunky black cargo pants and heavy boots.

The atmosphere in Peitho was breathable enough, if a little thin, which would necessitate them wearing portable gas masks for extra oxygen. If the mask broke, the air was still breathable, but any kind of heightened exertion would likely cause a blackout.

Other than that, and the acid rains, Peitho’s atmosphere was tolerable for human beings.

There would be other sentient species there, too, all of which could thrive in Peitho’s atmosphere.

It was summer down there, and the storms were a bit unpredictable, so they were counting on their guide to usher them to safety should there be impending rain.

There was a sound from the entryway and he saw Betty walk through the sliding automatic doors.

“I’m here for my— _whoa,_ soldier.” Her eyes bugged out in surprised.

He couldn’t blame her. He had never looked this heavily laden with firearms. In the past, going after a bounty meant having a couple of handguns tucked into his gun vest under his jacket.

She wasn’t kidding when she said he looked like a soldier.  

He gave her a sideways grin. “Welcome to Peitho.”

She blew out a breath and looked him up and down. “First of all, how dare you look this hot—“

“Wow, really? You like me this way? Okay, let’s go—“

She shot him a sardonic smile while she put out her hand to stop any further advancement. “Secondly, am I going to have to wear all that, too? I will be incapable of walking, let alone run if I have to.”

He nodded, opening a locker. He had her arsenal all ready for her. “You’ll be a little more light weight, I promise, now let me take a good look at you…”

He tried not to grin as her eyebrow arched and he checked her out.

She wore a plain grey tank that dipped low in the front and clung to her body. Her cargos were the standard desert hue. Her boots were not as industrial as his, but were as sturdy as Doc Martens could be. The flower print on them might be a little distracting, but he couldn’t help but think that he wouldn’t have wanted her to wear anything else. She looked sexy as hell, but she also looked comfortable.

“Are you _done_ checking me out?” She was smirking and that kick of dominance reared its head.

 _I’m going to wipe that smirk off her face._ “Turn around.”

She did, and he was taking her wrists and slapping it against the lockers, arms up in a frisk position while nipping at the skin of her shoulders with his lips.

She sighed, melting at his touched. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think?”

She hummed but let out another deep breath. “I want to, but we are leaving in ten minutes and your gun is—“

“That is _not_ my gun.”

She giggled and he found himself laughing as well.

“Down, boy,” she said, and he did remove himself from her. “You need to arm me.”

“I got you.” He took out the kevlar. This was a newer, more lightweight version, but it was no less effective at stopping bullets. It didn’t have as many pockets, but she could carry extra clips in her pants if necessary. He fitted a back holster to the small of her back, as well. He sheathed the handguns to her back and side, asking her to show him how she’ll reach for them.

“You have these pockets for your explosives,” he said, slipping his fingers in a few more empty pockets on her vest, and here are the clips for your handguns and your rifles… put ‘em away yourself so you know where they are.”

She nodded, and he could see her remembering as she put them away.

He was going to give her a rifle—short range but intimidating. They’d been keeping at the rifle training the last couple of weeks and she seemed confident enough with it to handle one.

He took the Sig516, strap and everything, and helped drape it across her body. He adjusted the strap a bit so that she didn’t have to carry the full weight of it when she was using it. “How does that feel?”

She held the rifle in her arms to test its heft and she nodded. “Good. I think this weight’s manageable. Do I look intimidating enough? Should I stop smiling?”

He shrugged, amused by her question. “You can do whatever you want, baby. Just be careful.”

The playful glint faded from her eyes, replaced with a look of mild chagrin. “You know I will be. You trained me.”

He nodded and swallowed. “I keep telling myself that, but you know the reality’s different, right princess? These people are scum. They will not respect you. You have to force them to do that with this,” he touched her gun. He tapped her temple gently. “They don’t care about this.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. She knew what he meant. Up until now, her brain was her most dependable weapon. It still was, but the people of Peitho didn’t care if she had a Phd in rocket science. They were more concerned about whether she can hit a target.

She could. He’d seen her do it, but there were hundreds of other external factors that even the state-of-the-art virtual technology of their shooting range couldn’t simulate.

“Bad people find creative ways to be worse,” he had told her after they simulated a shootout in a crowded marketplace.

He knew she understood. She was their risk manager, and arguably, she was less prone to be reckless than any of the Joneses were, but he’d seen perfectly calm army and navy rookies panic at the first sign of an unexpected turn of events.

She looked him in the eyes, her steely resolve clear in her gaze. “I’ll remember the drills. Stick to the basics. Nothing fancy. And I’ll keep my head, I swear.”

“I know you will, Betts. You’re ready.”

She nodded and did flash him a smile. “I am, but I’ve got something for you.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out two familiar rings. They were the homing rings from the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy survivor’s kit.

His eyebrow arched, and he found that his heart rate was picking up a little at the sight of the rings in her palm.

She chuckled. “I’m not proposing to you. Don’t look so scared.”

“I’m not scared,” he said, automatically, before he could think on what he had just said.

She paused and he took a moment to debate whether he should take it back—or _not._

“I reworked these,” she said before he could think on it further. “They were of pretty good quality before I tinkered with them, but now they’re better. You can put this on your dog tag and sync it with your wrist tag, and we’ll find one another if we have to.”

He picked one up and examined it. It was too small for any of his fingers, anyway, but he wouldn’t have at all minded wearing it on his hand. “Promise?”

She looked at him like she was struck with a sense of something profound. “Promise.”

He touched the ring to his wrist tag and they synced. Quickly, he looped the ring through the chain of his dog tags and put it back on. He felt the cool titanium metal against the skin of his chest.

She took hers and slipped it around her ring finger. “I already synced mine…”

Seeing it on her hand made him think things he never dared to before. “So if we lose each other in a crowd...”

Her gentle smile soothed his nerves. “We will find one another. Up to 6,000 leagues. I increased its radius.”

“Of course you did.”

She stepped closer, tiptoeing to press a kiss to his lips. “I’m going to be alright, Jughead. And we’re going to watch each other’s backs, yeah?”

He nodded, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “You know, you need one last thing.”

Her eyebrow arched as he turned and took out a knife with an ankle holster. “It’s always good to have one last surprise.”

Chuckling, she set her foot on a bench and let him secure the knife, tucking the holster under the material of her boot surrounding her ankle. With a quick buckle, he had it strapped. He pulled the hem of her pants over her ankle to hide it and looked at her.

“Now we’re ready.”

 

*********************

 

With their face masks secured, Betty felt a little more like the space explorer that she essentially had become.

She hadn’t had to space walk to repair the ship’s exterior—any such repairs and FP had Jughead land the ship so she could work without the risk of getting knocked out into space, and most of the worlds they’d had to go to didn’t require protective suits and masks—a rule that FP himself wasn’t ready to break. He believed atmospheres that required exosuits were far too risky for his preference.

“No bounty is worth that,” he had said.

This atmosphere of thin air was the closest they would probably ever get to it.

As they left the Chopper under a protected facility, Jellybean monitored it remotely and spoke into their audio comms. “Entering Tiger Country.”

Betty pursed her lips when she saw Jughead’s eyebrow twitch slightly.

Overhead, the sky was a clear purple, but in the distance, gaseous clouds loomed.

As she fell in step behind Jughead, she observed the denizens of Peitho Minor, capital town of the lone inhabited continent and country in Peitho, watching their every move.

Betty tried her best not to look too curious. She didn’t want to stand out as the newbie.

The streets were cramped with poorly constructed buildings on all sides and the road underfoot was filthy with plastic material and decaying substances.

Betty could smell the detritus even through the mask.

Plastic material was predominant, covering everything from structures, crafts, everyday items, and beings, big and small.

She reached out and touched a gloved hand against a lightpost. Scratched and old, the veneer of plastic was still obvious.

“It’s for the acid rains,” came a voice from off to their side. “It’s the only material other than Peitho surface soil that the acid from the rains can’t burn through.”

“Dilton,” Jughead said, putting his hand out to a petite young man, around the same age as Jughead.

Dilton took the offered hand and shook it. “Hiya, Captain. You look good, Sir.”

Dilton Doiley, a member of the ground crew from Jughead’s days at the Def Cor, ran into a bit of trouble after his service and started bouncing from star system to star system to find his fortunes. That he ended up in Peitho was a result of his mixing with space pirates who left his sorry ass on the planet without a single penny that would allow him to hitch a ride out.

He’d been at Peitho for almost a year before Jughead contacted him, explaining that Jellybean had tracked him there and that they may need his help.

If Dilton wanted a way out of Peitho, Betty certainly knew Jughead would let him hitch a ride with them, but Dilton had asked for a cut, instead.

Peitho, it seemed, had grown on him.

Jughead scoffed. “I always told you to quit calling me sir outside of the Def Cor. It’s just Jughead.”

“Eh, force of habit. Is this FP and Betty?”

Jughead introduced them and when it came to shaking her hand, Dilton hesitated. She took his hand anyway.

“S-Sorry, are you his—“

“Mechanic? Yes.”

“Yes, of course.” Even through the mask, Betty could see him turning red. His eyes shifted to look at all of them. “Follow me.”

Everywhere they went there were extended awnings over establishment doors, presumably for people to take shelter in the instance of unexpected weather changes, but there were wide swathes of walkways with absolutely no protection. Betty had to wonder how many people perished on a daily basis because of the rains.

They entered a bar-like establishment that seemed less crowded. Its clientele were mostly human, all of which turned to look at them.

“Sonofabitch,” Jughead muttered.

FP gave a loud sigh. “Are you kidding me?”

Betty didn’t understand what was going on until a man with curly long hair and a coat that looked like it was made of a dark but plush plastic material threw his arms wide in what was supposedly a welcoming gesture. He wore no shirt underneath.

“Well what have we here?” The man cried with a wide smile that came across more like a sneer, even through his gas mask. “It’s FP and FPJr.!”

“Malachai,” Jughead muttered. “Great.”

Malachai strutted over, passing Dilton by while nudging him upside the head.

Dilton shoved his hand away but said nothing, staring at him with profound annoyance.

Malachai extended a hand to Jughead, who took it with an upraised eyebrow. He shook FP’s hand, too. “What brings you so far out in the galaxy?”

“Sightseeing,” Jughead replied shortly.

Malachi chuckled. “Me, too. And who’s this? New member of the crew?”

Betty found her hand being lifted delicately, and with a swift pull of his mask, he dropped a kiss on her knuckles.

Jughead was immediately between them, pushing Malachai gently, but firmly, away with a hand to Malachai’s chest. “This is Betty Cooper. Our engineer and explosives expert.”

Malachai put his hands up, grinning and looking past Jughead’s shoulder to make eye contact with her. “Hello, Betty Cooper. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing with these roughnecks?”

Her eyebrow arched but she said nothing, casting him a withering glare. She didn’t quite like being called a thing, but she said nothing, opting instead to give him a silent huff.

“Ooh, she’s too good for me, isn’t she?” Malachai crooned in a delighted tone. “Classy chick, this one.”

“Where do I even start?” Jughead advanced, getting in Malachai’s face, and Betty was just about to tell him to let it go when FP stepped in for her.

“Alright, quit the pissing match, both of you. We’re too busy for this, Malachai. It was nice seeing you—“

“You’re here for The Sugarman, aren’t you?” Malachai said in a goading tone. “I am, too. I’d split him in half with you if I could but the warrant says he’s wanted alive. So I guess we’re just going to have to find out who gets him first.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Jughead said, stepping back to let Betty pass by first.

She walked past Malachai to follow Dilton who had secured a table for them. She could feel Malachai’s eyes following her and it made her want to turn and punch him in the face, but she didn’t want to give him that satisfaction.

“You better watch that sweet thing of yours, Jones,” she heard Malachai say with an accompanying snort. “Lots of slave traders this time of year. Piece like that can fetch them a profit three times more than the Sugarman’s bounty. _”_

Betty felt ice chilling the pit of her stomach. Slave trading was outlawed all over the Milky Way, but out here in the 4th Quadrant, there was a lot of open space to practice it without getting caught. The horror stories of female species kidnapped across the galaxy and forced into slavery and prostitution were horrendous. Some things, she realized, never changed.

Was Malachai threatening her? And did he just call her a “piece”?

“You mind your business and I’ll mind mine, alright?” Jughead growled, turning to join her and Dilton at their table at the far end of the bar.

FP turned his chair around as he sat, straddling the seat. “How’d he get here? Last time I saw him he was hauling in drug dealers in the 2nd Quadrant?”

“I’d say the Sugarman’s right up his alley. Cartel boss in all of the 3rd Quad brings in a helluva reward,” Jughead muttered in a low tone.

“Malachai just got here himself. Brought an entire posse with him to catch the Sugarman,” Dilton said. “He has the right idea. You three can’t possibly do this by yourselves.”

Jughead shrugged. “We’ll find a way. We’ve done it before, and I don’t see Malachai screwing us all by announcing that bounty hunters are in Peitho. He’s smart enough to keep a low profile about us all, but Jellybean’s our secret weapon. We’ll get to the Sugarman sooner. Guaranteed.”

“So Malachai’s another bounty hunter,” Betty said, needing clarification.

Jughead nodded. “He’s pretty good. Works with the 2nd Quad GBI drug division sometimes. He knows how to catch them. But if he wants the full reward, he can’t use their resources. All the way out here, he’s got nothing but his wits to do this. We got a plan in place. Dilton, did you get what I asked from you?”

Dilton sighed and nodded, handing him a bluetooth data storage device. “All of the Sugarman’s girlfriends, past and present.”

The black box fit easily over Jughead’s palm. He punched in a code and the box emanated a soft strobe of tiny lights, which Jughead hovered his tag over.

There was a soft beep and whatever data there was in it appeared to be transmitted.

“All downloaded, Nerf Herder _,”_ Jellybean said through their earpieces. “Now just sit tight while I take a look at this and I’ll let you know what you should do.”

Jughead rolled his eyes and Betty stifled a giggle.

“Look at it this way, son. She’s calling you Han Solo based on your flying this morning,” FP said, who seemed way too amused for Betty’s liking. Then he waved a finger at her. “And you’re the princess… holy shit, I never got the reference until now!”

Jughead swung a deadly look at his father. “Laugh it up, _fuzzball.”_

Loathe as she was to lose sight of the fact that they were on a serious mission, she couldn’t help but give in to the moment of levity. She laughed, and Dilton, who looked confused because he didn’t have a line to Jellybean, still managed to crack a reluctant grin.

A waitress came over and asked them what she could get them and Jughead ordered coffee for everyone.

It was probably strange to order coffee in a bar, but this far out in the galaxy, the server knew never to ask questions.

By the time the coffee arrived, Jellybean was deep into feeding information back.

“Just as I suspected,” she said over the radio. “At least one of them got a credit card, which he pays for—underaged young filly. Gross, but true. Used _that_ to get into his systems and I had to get a little creative because scum like this don’t like electronic devices— _except_ when they don’t even know they’re using it because it comes built into their expensive crafts, like most GPSes. I got the hookup from his ride. We now know where he goes, at what time, and how he gets there. We have a travel pattern and you’re going to exploit it.”

“Beautiful,” Jughead said, reading the information Jellybean was feeding to him.

FP and Betty read it over his shoulder, looking at the projected screen.

Betty pointed at a section of the city that looked a little more isolated. “That looks promising.”

Jughead nodded. “That, it does.”

 

**************

 

The street wasn’t completely dead. There were still a considerable amount of pedestrians roaming around this back alley and Betty was a little nervous about people getting caught in the crossfire, but this narrow passage was their best chance at catching the Sugarman alive and with the least amount of fanfare and explosions.

It was also fortunate that the Sugarman’s relatively carefree existence in Peitho in the last few years, inaccessible to the authorities and hidden from the vast majority of bounty hunters, has made him slightly complacent.

He had only two transport escorts, with his craft protected in the middle, none of which were particularly artillery proof. His transport-cade used shortcuts, too, that had he been in a more accessible planet, his security team never would’ve taken, but given the cramped roadways of Peitho and the generally unbearable traffic, they wove in and out of backways that often had them driving through narrow alleys.

Lightning flash overhead, followed by the rumble of thunder about seven seconds later.

That, above anything else, made Betty nervous.

They had talked about the weather, about how it tended to be unpredictable even to the planet’s inhabitants. That a storm seemed to be oncoming wasn’t a deterrent for many since acid storms have often made their presence known this way, only to pull back into other parts at the last minute.

People wore acid proof coats, protection from sudden downpours. Dilton cautioned, however, that a sudden downpour always caused a steady hum of panic. It wasn’t complete chaos, but people weren’t going to slow down for newbies.  

Wrapped in a weather-proof cloak that Dilton had distributed among them, she felt much less exposed.

“How you doing princess?” Jughead asked through their radio. He was at the other end of the alley, poised to detonate the bomb they had set up to take out the front escort. She had been tasked to take out the rear.

Her bombs weren't meant to completely explode the vehicles, just disable them. Big explosions can get the bounty killed and they needed the Sugarman alive, so there will definitely be shooting involved.

That’s probably what worried Jughead the most.

Other than the oncoming possible weather shift, she found that she was oddly calm and steady. “Good. And you?”

“I’d feel better if I could see you.”

She laughed softly. “I’ll be fine, Jughead. This’ll be over before you know it.”

“Dilton, don’t get her in trouble.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” said Dilton wryly from his hiding spot.

He was situated with her in the back because he was the only one who knew what the cars actually looked like.

She was mostly disguised like a homeless lady, her golden hair hidden beneath the hood of her cloak. She was tucked into the corner, ready to roll over and spring into action once the cars were through.

“They’re turning the corner,” Jellybean said through the audio comm. She’d been tracking them consistently for the last 15 minutes, counting it down in periodic updates. They were ready.

“Show time,” Dilton said.

Betty looked up and saw three black cruisers turn the corner into their road. Pedestrians hurried out of the way for them, some barely making it to the sidewalk. These cruisers weren’t slowing down for anyone.

“Here they come,” Betty said.

The cruisers turned into their alley, and once the last craft got through, she hit the button on her detonator.

The first explosion was Jughead’s and hers followed milliseconds later.

The groan and crunch of torn gears was followed by fire and smoke. The existence of the passengers of the front and rear crafts were perilous, but the middle craft remained unharmed.

Betty sprung to her feet and hefted her rifle, cautiously approaching the rear craft. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dilton take up his position with a gun of his own.

As expected, those left alive in the craft spilled out of it, coughing and probably concussed. Smoke billowed thickly out of the doors.

She could hear the drone of the overhead feed from inside the craft, in Jellybean’s pseudo-soothing voice. “You are being lawfully apprehended by Fugitive Recovery Agents, licensed by the Galactic Alliance. Resistance may result in serious injury or death. In the interest of peace and your good health, we encourage your cooperation and surrender, otherwise you will, forcibly and possibly painfully, be compelled to comply. It’s obviously not a great day for you, but I wish you one, anyway.”

Betty breathed, willing herself to take the shot.

The first perp saw her and raised his gun.

_Now or never._

She pulled the trigger and the man flailed as her bullet caught him on his shoulder. He was down and groaning, but he was alive.

Another shot was fired and it caught him on the head. It didn’t come from her gun. It came from Dilton’s.

“Shoot to kill, Betty,” he said, never losing focus on his sweep. “They won’t hesitate with you.”

Betty swallowed and nodded, pushing further.

Another one dropped out of the craft, this one ready to shoot her. He fired at her but missed badly.

She steadied her pulse, refusing to be rattled. She pulled the trigger on her rifle and her bullet punctured his gut. She shut off that part of her brain that told her she had just killed a man. She could think about and agonize over it later.

Beside her, Dilton had no hesitations. He aimed for their heads and he fired without missing a beat.

There were four men on the ground around them now, and Betty made a sweep of the craft.

More thunder rumbled four seconds after the lightning flashed.

The craft was completely empty of passengers. “Clear!” she said over the radio.

There was still gunfire on the other side, but as the last one rang in the air, Jughead replied. “All clear.”

“Middle craft still actively hostile,” FP warned. “Approach with caution.”

Betty used the rear craft’s doors for cover as she waited for the middle craft to come alive with shooters.

True enough, men slid out of the doors and started shooting at them. Betty had to crouch low to avoid the hail of automatic weaponry.

Betty dug into her vest and took out one of her more choice gadgets.

It was a sizeable thing, heavy enough in her palm. She just had to make it land a certain way. Gingerly, she climbed up the back of the rear craft and slid low over its roof, shielding herself from gun fire. She tossed her bomb like a disc.

It landed perfectly over the hood of the middle craft.

_Yes._

Lying on her back, she took out her detonator and held it in her grip. She pressed her thumb down and it activated the bomb.

The middle car was immediately electrified by bursts of voltage. Anyone clinging to its outside surface in any way got a hefty serving of taze.

There were palpitating shouts, and then the men around the craft dropped unconscious to the ground.

Betty shut off the electricity and as she rolled over to look, she saw Jughead and FP coming through the small spaces on the sides of the alley, guns drawn and pointed at the craft.

Jughead peered through the craft door through his rifle and spoke. “Drop your weapon and come out, nice and easy. Turn around and put your hands above the craft.”

Slowly, the person Betty assumed was the Sugarman emerged, his hands raised.

His brown hair was cropped neatly close to his head. He sported a five o’clock shadow and he wore a casual pair of chinos and a white button up blouse, folded to his elbows.

If Betty didn’t know any better, he would’ve looked like any well-dressed gentleman.

Betty immediately scrambled off the roof of the third craft and resumed her position on the ground.

Jughead started pulling the Sugarman’s arms behind him to apply the restraints. “Robert Phillips, you are being arrested for the sale, transportation, and illegal import of unlawful controlled substances, otherwise known as drug trafficking. You are also being arrested for numerous acts of violence, which include murder, assault, kidnapping, torture, sexual assault, statutory rape, battery—among other offences as prescribed by the Galactic Alliance in the Treaty of Anahita. By virtue of the Fugitive Recovery Directive, I, as a licensed Fugitive Recovery Agent, am authorized to take you into custody. Your rights will apply.” He entered the codes for the restraints and took the Sugarman by the arm. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a galactic court of law. You have the right to an advocate. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the Legal Federation of Galactic Courts. You have a right to safe passage. Fugitive Recovery Agents are required, by law, to transport you _immediately_ from your site of apprehension to the nearest law enforcement station sanctioned by the Galactic Alliance. Transit shall last no longer than 168 hours, and while in transit, a reasonable amount of care is expected to be upheld. Are you clear about your rights?”

“Fuck you.”

Jughead nodded. “Good enough.”

As Jughead began shoving the Sugarman out of the alley, a movement caught Betty’s eye.

One of the electrocuted men raised his gun and pointed it right at Jughead’s back.

“Watch out!” Betty didn’t need a moment to think. She raised her rifle, aimed, and fired.

The man dropped unceremoniously back to the ground, this time for good.

Jughead looked mildly shocked that he had almost gotten shot, then he gave Betty a pert nod of acknowledgement.

Betty’s heart was pounding through her chest, but she nodded back calmly, following Jughead out of the alley while staying on alert.

It was a couple of blocks walk still to the Chopper and if they wanted to beat the acid rains, they had to hurry.

As they crossed the cramped streets, Betty saw the approach of Malachai, a rifle hefted in his arms.

Their party did not stop walking, even as Malachai fell into step with them.

“Guess you beat us to the punch this time,” Malachai said. “But are you sure you can get him out of the planet? He’s got more than those thugs hanging around to get him back.”

“We’ll fight our way out of here if we have to,” FP growled.

“Tell you what—we all want to put this guy away. I can’t take him from you and turn him in myself, because that would be rude.”

Betty glared at him. “Don’t even think it.”

“Feisty! We won’t, blondie, but if the Sugarman’s people do come and try to get him back, we’ll help you keep him, and in that instance, I want a cut of the reward, Jones.”

Betty didn’t know if she believed him, but they’d never bagged a drug lord before.

Jughead didn’t even hesitate to nod. “If they come for him, I’ll give you 5 percent if you help us get him out of this airspace.”

“15 and we have a deal.”

“15, it is. But if anyone in my crew gets hurt, you get nothing.”

Malachai laughed. “Always driving a hard bargain. I got you, Jones. We see trouble, we’ll bail you out.”

The acid rains started to drop and the Sugarman cried out as the first droplet hit him.

Jughead pulled on the hood of his cloak and tried to shield the Sugarman with it.

Betty covered her head as well, hearing the hiss of the cloak as the acid hit it.

The cloaks weren’t meant to last in the rain and they needed shelter fast.

The rain _poured_ and screams punctured the air. Betty got carried by the wave of rushing denizens, separating her from Jughead and FP.  

“Jug!” she cried into her radio. “Can you hear me?”

Jughead’s voice sputtered through the feed in stops and starts, but before she could respond, someone barrelled into her side and knocked her earpiece clean off. She gasped, shocked at the intensity of the collision while searching underfoot to find her device. A drop of acid sizzled on the flesh of her hand and she gave a cry of pain.

“Follow me!” Dilton cried, feeling him tug her arm through an alleyway.

Desperate to gain ground over the chaos, she let Dilton drag her away, weaving through streets and underpasses, and finally in a back alleyway where they climbed a set of steps to get to a door. Dilton threw the door open and let her walk through it first before he followed.  

The place was dimly lit and it smelled strongly of grease and cooking meat. Betty heaved off her smoldering cloak, horrified at how damaged it looked as it splattered to the floor in a ruined heap.

Someone yelled at them in another language and she realized that her translator had fallen off with her earpiece. Dilton yelled back at them in the same language, which made them fall back and thereafter scamper off.

Whatever he told them, they had gotten scared. At any rate, Betty and Dilton were carrying large guns, which would be cause for fear, by itself.

The door opened after them and Malachai stumbled in. His coat looked to be in much better condition than their cloaks, and she realized that the quality of his protective wear was of a higher caliber.

“Well, that was invigorating!” Malachai cried, laughing as he saw her. “Where’s your boy, blondie?”

She scowled, stepping away from him. “We got separated. It’s alright. We’ll find each other. Dilton, do you still have your radio? Mine got knocked off in the fray.”

Dilton tapped his ear. “Got it right here. They’re being held up by the rain, but they know we’re here.”

Betty nodded, relieved.

Malachai stepped closer but Betty stepped away, holding up her gun.

“Keep your distance,” she hissed, glaring at him. “I will shoot you, I swear.”

Malachai snorted. “I have no interest in hurting you, lady. I have enough problems, so I’m not going to add Jones coming after me, for breathing wrong in your direction, to that list.”

A crackling noise broke through the kitchen and Betty realized it was coming from Dilton’s vest. Dilton took out a communicator and spoke into it in the language he had previously used on the kitchen staff.   

The splatter of rain overhead was unnerving, like any minute now, the acid would eat through the ceiling. Betty looked up, nervous, and asked, “How long do these rains last?”

“Fifteen--twenty minutes,” Dilton replied. “It’s usually followed by water or some other less harmful substance. It washes the acid off and makes it possible for us to come out right after.”

The door suddenly swung open and a cloaked figure shambled in. His coat was smoldering, too, but like Malachai’s coat, his was of better quality.

The door behind Betty opened, as well. Four men filed inside the kitchen, surrounding them.

Malachai scowled, watching it all happen as his hand crept to his side piece. “Well, it got crowded around here fast.”

Betty gripped her rifle, feeling immediately alarmed. Had Malachai lured her here to be taken? She looked around her, making quick calculations and determining the best route through what was essentially an asteroid field of hostiles.

For a second, nobody moved.

Then Malachai cursed. “Slave traders. Blondie, _run!”_ He turned to face the man behind him, plucking his gun from his belt as he went, but it was too late. His opponent swung and hit him over the head with a club.

Malachai dropped like a stone on the floor, unconscious.

Betty quickly shifted to a shooting stance, aiming her rifle at Malachai’s attacker and shooting him with focused precision. Without even having to think about it, she turned and immediately shot at another, disposing of him quickly. There were now only two men left and she began backing out toward the door.

How she was going to get out in the acid rain, she didn’t know, but the ruined coat at her feet had to do.

“Dilton! We need to go!” she cried, and Dilton immediately scampered to her side. One handed, she began to awkwardly pick her coat off the floor.  

She realized Dilton wasn’t quite as responsive as she would like him to be.  She was about to yell at him to wake the hell up when he sighed and said, “I’m sorry, Betty.”

“What?”

He grabbed her rifle and her trigger finger squeezed on sheer instinct. The gun fired but it was harmlessly aimed at the wall behind him. Awkward and off balance, she was unable to resist his grab for her gun, and when he kicked her, she stumbled on the floor, completely unable to protect herself from the other men who were still there.  

She screamed, kicking and flailing. She managed to grab one of her disc bombs and she armed it as she dropped it to the floor.

“Fuck! Take cover!” Dilton screamed, making a dive for it. The hands around her were gone, and she rolled away to avoid the bomb’s explosion. It wasn’t going to cause much damage. It was a smoke bomb, but it allowed Betty to grab her handgun, cock it, and start shooting.

Thick smoke filled the kitchen, and Betty had to hope she could actually get a hit, otherwise, there would still be too many of them. She saw a shadow through the smoke and she aimed, firing before her target got swallowed by the thick haze.

A gagging sound cut through the air and it was followed by a body dropping to the floor, clutching his throat as he bled out on the tiles. Frantically, she aimed again, but even she was struggling to see through the smoke, so she was unable to fend off the hands that fell upon her and knocked the gun away.  

She struggled violently to wrench herself free, but the hands that grabbed her twisted her wrists to her back painfully. She screamed at the pinch on her shoulders.

“Hold her, dammit!” Dilton cried as he began to undo the straps to her vest.  “You guys are idiots, you know that? I told you she was armed!”

“Well, we couldn’t risk damaging her!” argued his companion.  “She’s no good to us with bullet holes! And who the fuck was that other guy?”

Dilton managed to tear off her vest and her face mask. “It was just some rando who followed us.”

She growled and cast Dilton a deadly look, even as she immediately felt the shift in her breathing, now that all she had was thin air. “Jughead will kill you, Dilton. I swear to God--”

“He doesn’t even know you’re here,” he said.

“Why are you doing this?” she hissed, struggling a bit as she tried to find a rhythm to her breathing.

Dilton shrugged. “Slave trading pays a helluva lot more than bounty hunting and when I found out Betty Cooper, heiress to the Cooper Gestalt Corporation, was arriving on Peitho with Jughead, I saw an opportunity. Now--this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.”

He swung his body and his fist clocked her right on the face.

She had never been struck in her life, and as she stumbled to the floor, she realized that seeing stars while your head was spinning was an actual thing.

As she pushed herself to her hands and knees, a metal-toe boot cut through her haze and slammed right into her rib cage.

Pain exploded from her body and as she fell, she realized she couldn’t breathe. Curling into herself, she felt panic well inside her. She gasped painfully, trying to get air into her lungs. She wheezed painfully, and it felt and sounded like dying, even to her.

“You goddamn bitch,” said the stranger in a savage tone, swinging his foot again to catch her in the midriff. It didn’t hit her as hard as the first one, but the pain still rocked her and it still sapped her of any strength.

She rolled over, incapable of making a sound even as her mind screamed with pain.

“Don’t go overboard,” Dilton said, mildly. “We don’t want to damage the goods irreparably.”

“Bruises heal,” came the rough reply. “And we need her compliant.” He tugged at her boot and resist though she did, it was a futile fight. Her boot slid off, and she was afraid she knew what they were going to do.

The man raised his own booted foot and slammed it viciously over hers. The sole was made of hard rubber and the edges of it was wrapped in solid steel. It ground her foot beneath it and she screamed in pain. It was nothing like she’d ever felt before. She was certain something was fractured.

She hated that she was sobbing. Hated that she was in this situation where she was forgetting how to think.

 _Think._ She told herself amidst her pain and confusion. _Think, Cooper!_

A groan sounded from across the room. It was Malachai and he was stirring.  

“Shit,” Dilton hissed. “Take care of that, will ya Cass?”

As Cass let her go, she told herself that this was a chance. They were distracted, and she remembered that she had one last thing in her arsenal.

A second later, she was grabbing her knife from her other boot and she had buried it right into Dilton’s side.

Dilton stared at her in shock and she looked him straight in the eyes as she rasped, “Surprise, you goddamn slave trader.”

Dilton dropped to the ground and Cass, realizing what had happened, turned and swore loudly, stalking right back towards her.

Invigorated by her success, she scrambled and made a dive for her discarded vest. There was no way she was going to win a tussle with Cass, even with a knife in her hand, but she knew he wasn’t going to kill her, so she had a chance to make it through.

A long as she remained alive and conscious, she wasn’t going down without a fight.  

She didn’t reach the vest. Cass was on her in a second and she swung clumsily with her fist, but he grabbed her wrist and backhanded her. Her vision blurred and the inside of her cheek stung. He straddled her, and the furious look on his face made her brace herself for the oncoming blows.

He lifted his fist and punched her in the face. She tasted blood in her mouth and she spat it out as he raised his fist to swing again, but Malachai’s loud groan distracted him, and cursing, he stared her in the eyes.  “Are you going to stay still for me? I can break your hand, no problem.”

She whimpered as pitifully as she could. She just needed him to stop hitting her. She just needed a chance to make a play.

Seeing the compliance in her eyes, he got off her and walked over to Malachai’s prone form.

Betty told herself to _get up._  

Steeling herself and trying desperately to ignore the spinning of her vision, she pulled herself up by her hands. Her ribs served a fresh wave of agony, but she fought through it. She refused to be hauled off as a slave. She refused to give up and pray for deliverance. She was the master of her fate.

_I’m a goddamn rocket scientist._

She managed to pull herself up to her feet by grabbing the nearest surface, forcing her body into an upright position as the gunshot that finished Malachai off rang through the kitchen.

She swallowed the horror that came over her at the coldness of the killing and focused on moving without passing out from the pain on her foot.

She saw Cass coming before she could think of what to pick up for her weapon, and on instinct, she grabbed the nearest object.

It was a spatula. She tried not to let the fact that it was pretty useless deter her from her instinct to survive.

She swung it. He deflected it easily and grabbed her by the waist of her pants. She found a ridge on the stove top and clung to it for dear life. The spatula was still in her hand and as he pulled to yank her lose, she realized that the spatula was going to save her life.

There was a deep fryer, some food burning and bubbling merrily as she struggled to hold on. She plunged her spatula in the hot oil, took a spatula full of the boiling liquid, and flicked it right into Cass’s face.

He screamed, hands to his face as the hot oil sizzled against his skin. Some of the oil got on her, too, but its sting was nothing compared to the adrenaline that had surged through her. Biting back all the pain her body was in, she grabbed a heavy skillet from the wall, and putting her entire body into it, she pivoted, swung, and hit it right on his head, like it was a baseball bat.

Cass fell, staggering, and visibly disoriented. She swung again and it sent him spilling to the floor.

Limping, but determined, she got up close. He tried to rise on all fours and when he did, she swung that pan a third time, as hard as she could, and this time, he didn’t get up.

She dropped the pan and realized that she was breathing so heavily on such thin air that her body was going to crash any minute now.  Slowly, she picked up the gun, just in case Cass decided to get up again, and went over to Dilton to grab his ear piece.

It was turned off and she clumsily tried to switch it on. The thin air was already confusing her and she managed to press a button. Any button.

“Jug,” she rasped. “Jug…”

Betty realized with surprising pride that she hadn’t dug her nails into her palm in the least. She looked at Cass’s motionless form and then let her eyes scan the bodies around her. She had done that. She had beat _them_ , and not once did she waver in her resolve to fight, to survive, to give them all hell.  She powered through the pain and won.

And however horrific this ordeal was, she realized that she was fighting the grin that was lifting the corners of her lips. She leaned against the wall, clutching the gun in her hand. She laid it against her thigh and willed herself to stay awake, but that was growing more difficult by the second.

Her ring finger twitched, and she realized that her homing ring just might bring Jughead to her. It was a comforting thought, that at some point, he was going to be there with her.

When the explosive sound of an opening door filled her senses, she realized she was too weak, in too much pain, and definitely lacking in oxygen to do anything about it.

But then she heard his voice. Jughead’s voice. Panicked, maybe? He was calling her name. He was calling on deities as he knelt in front of her, cupping her face in his hands.

He was so handsome even in despair. His tears made his eyes glisten, even in the dim lighting, and she had never been so, so glad to see him.

She cast him a grateful smile before her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she completely passed out.

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sci-Fi references:  
> 1\. "We aim to misbehave." - Definitely a Firefly reference  
> 2\. "Nerfherder" - Princess Leia, Star Wars  
> 3\. "Laugh it up, fuzzball." - Han Solo, Empire Strikes Back (I think, lol)


	4. The Knight

 

 

It was the space between chaos and resignation that Jughead dug in his anger and exploded.

In the waiting room of Peitho’s only existing medical facility, Jughead unleashed his rage and kicked something so forcefully that it crashed noisily against the decrepit aluminum lined walls.

He alarmed the quietly pensive family waiting the next module over--hell, he alarmed Malachai’s gang of bounty hunters, and FP sprung to his feet with a loud shout, perhaps in an effort to overcome with words the tidal wave of rage Jughead was suddenly riding.

“For God’s sake, kid!” FP yelled, trying to put hands on Jughead’s shoulders.

Jughead shook him off, refusing to be touched. The stark remembrance of finding Betty in that kitchen and thinking she was dead was still raw. He still clearly remembered falling to her side and realizing a second later that she was still breathing--the relief made his hands shake so hard that he could barely snatch a face mask off one of the bodies on the floor. He had fumbled to strap the mask over her face, but he did it swiftly enough, and her breathing immediately normalized. Her eyes had fluttered open seconds later, dazed and disoriented, as he picked her off the floor.

He had carried her out, the weight of her body steadying his nerves. The walk between the kitchen and the Chopper had been an exercise in calming the panic that had been clawing its way out of his chest.

Jughead didn’t even care that the gunshot to Malachai’s face hadn’t killed him. He just wanted Betty away from there. He wanted her face to stop swelling. He wanted to stop her mouth from bleeding. He wanted to right the foot that looked so painfully broken.

FP’s shock at seeing her had rendered him speechless, and in a calm voice, Jughead told him that they needed to bring Betty to the hospital.

It was FP who asked if there was anyone else in there that needed to be helped, FP who made a quick inspection of the kitchen and found Malachai gurgling blood in his mouth, and it was FP who slung Malachai’s body over his shoulder so that the man could be transported along with them.

Jughead hadn’t raised his voice the entire time, speaking softly in Betty’s ear to reassure her that he had her, that he would take care of her, and that a doctor would take away her pain.

He didn’t even raise his voice at the hospital. He had cut through the chaos of the emergency room and firmly told a receptionist that if he didn’t get a doctor for Betty _right now_ , he expected no blame for his actions.

That FP followed seconds later with Malachai over his shoulder and a pointed, “This man has been shot in the face. I’d say he needs immediate help,” probably aided in emphasizing the urgency of the situation.

It was only now, after the doctors had attended to both, after Betty had been washed, patched up, and been given a healing dose of morphine, and after Malachai’s Ghoulies fed Jughead disturbing information, that the situation actually began to sink in.

It was Betty’s knife he saw in Dilton’s side. Nobody but her knew she had it. She had to have been the one to stab him with it. It had to have been Dilton who led her away from them in the first place.

That Dilton’s last message was, “I have Betty with me and we’re safe. We’ll meet back at the Chopper when this rain’s done,” was now immeasurably infuriating. Even if Jughead immediately set out to find her after they secured the Sugarman in the Chopper, even after he grew alarmed at the lack of response from Dilton, nothing could mitigate the fury he felt for Dilton’s premeditation.

He didn’t know the full story yet. He didn’t know exactly what happened, but when Malachai’s people came around to see to their boss, they told Jughead that their initial inquiries into the bodies left in the kitchen identified them as slave traders.

That’s when Jughead lost it, and when FP sought to calm him down.

Jughead was having none of it. “I can’t believe I was so fucking wrong about Dilton!” he yelled. “I can’t believe I let Dilton anywhere _near Betty_!”

“You couldn’t have known!” FP cried. “He’s been off the grid for years, son. There was hardly a trail for Jellybean to follow—nobody we knew in the 4th Quad you can ask about him; he dropped off the face of the galaxy and all you had to go by was his reliable work ethic and the good relationship you had with him at the Def Cor. That JB was even able to track him down and contact him was a feat unto itself. This is _not_ on you.”

FP’s hands clamped on Jughead’s shoulders again, and this time, Jughead let him.

“Did you see?” Jughead asked helplessly, throwing a hand in the direction of Betty’s room. “What they did to her?” His eyes stung and he said what had been grinding his heart the last hour. “She was alone and there were _five men_ on her. And I wasn’t—“ He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to go on without breaking out in tears. “I wasn’t there,” he finished quietly.

FP gave a quiet sigh and clapped Jughead on the back. “Let’s step out for a bit of privacy, kid. Some coffee out in the hallway?”

Reluctantly, Jughead walked through the waiting room doors and out in the hallways. It was late, and the hallways leading to the rooms were relatively quiet. He had a good view of Betty’s door so he didn’t have to worry that he was leaving her by herself again.

The machine dispensed coffee for cheap and FP made two cups. He motioned for them to sit on the nearby bench and handed Jughead one cup. He lifted the cup to his maskless face, glad that the oxygen rich air being pumped through the vents precluded the need to wear survival equipment.

The coffee was predictably too sweet and creamy, but it was warm and he felt it seep into his system. However angry he was, he knew he could use the caffeine.

“Jug, she’s gonna be okay,” FP said, his face pinching at the taste of the coffee. “She’s beat, but her fractures will heal and her bruises will get better. Her mild hypoxia didn’t do any permanent damage, thank God. She’ll be on pain meds for a couple of weeks and she will probably hate being told to hang back and rest, but she knows what’s good for her and we’ll be there to help her get through it.”

Jughead stared at the coffee in his cup, the light brown liquid quivering in his grip. Was she? Going to be okay? Her body was going to get better, that was for sure.  The bones of her foot would heal cleanly and the cracks in her ribs would knit, but what sort of trauma did this leave on her? He couldn’t help but think that if he had just leaned in a bit more--told her to wait until the next mission, all this could’ve been avoided.

“I shouldn’t have trusted Dilton,” he hissed under his breath. “We hadn’t connected in years, and I should’ve figured that all those years mixing with bad people brought out the worst in him. Like, if space pirates wanted to get rid of him, I should’ve known, right?”

FP shrugged. “I just thought they got rid of him for not being bad enough. He seemed like such a nice kid from what you told me of him. I guess we both forgot that people can change.”

Anger lanced through him anew. “It’s the opposite. People don’t change. They just learn their true selves.”

FP didn’t contradict him.

“Do we have to tell Alice about what happened here?” Jughead asked. He didn’t quite know what to do about that and he was looking to his father for some guidance.

FP shook his head. “Betty will kill us if we go running to her mother about her, don’t you think?”

Jughead nodded. He realized he was second guessing himself now. Perhaps he should’ve know that? “But it’s her mother, though…”

“Betty will be awake in a few hours. She’s safe and her prognosis is good. Let her decide if her mom needs to know.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, swallowing. He couldn’t let go of his guilt. He couldn’t forget the building panic in his gut when Dilton became unresponsive, and how the homing ring seemed to want to make him walk through walls--dead end after dead end that delayed him finding her.

When at last he got to her, the bloodbath that was in that kitchen brought him back to his worst days at the Def Cor, when their rescue missions turned up villages of dead bodies, where nothing and no one was alive.

He remembered seeing Betty limp against the wall, and all he could think was that she was dead, because she looked it. He was convinced that he had lost her, and that everything they could have done tomorrow or the days thereafter, have been swallowed by a black hole and turned to dust.

For those three seconds, he crumbled. Like he felt his soul cracking under the pressure of grief. But when he saw her chest rising and falling, his relief was almost crippling.  That paralysis was immediately overcome by the horrible thought that she was in an enormous amount of pain.

He kept thinking, absurdly, that he couldn’t believe anyone could hurt her--that someone had raised their hand and struck her. How could they look into her eyes and think to ruin that joy? How are there people in the galaxy willing to shatter beautiful souls like hers? And Betty, the light and inspiration of his life, meant absolutely nothing to them except for a wealth of units.

They had looked at her and saw profit.

It made him sick. It made him weep. What is wrong with these people?

He felt his father’s hand tap the back of his neck. “What’s important is that she survived and we’re here for her, right?”

He nodded, letting his father’s words calm him.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, FP stood and threw his empty cup of coffee away. “Look, kid. I gotta take the Surgarman to the Wyrm and leave him in the brig. Jellybean’s watching him remotely in the Chopper right now, and he’s fairly sedated, but I’d feel better if he was off the surface by the time his people realize he’d been taken into custody by us. Think you can hang here for few hours?  I’ll be right back to pick you guys up.”

“Of course, dad.” He had almost forgotten about the Sugarman. He hadn’t had space to think about anyone else but Betty so he was glad his father was taking care of the other stuff. “Be careful and stay alert. Maybe you can have one of Malachai’s guys accompany you. Offer something extra for an evening’s work so that JB doesn’t have to stay watch at the brig? We know some of those guys…”

FP nodded. “Yeah. Shelly May offered help. She’ll be good for standing guard at the brig while we’re taking care of business down here.” He patted Jughead’s back.  “Hang tight, kid. Betty’s tough. I’ll bet you the Wyrm that she kicked ass and took names in there. Recognize.”

He tried to smile for his father’s sake. It probably didn’t work because FP just sighed and clapped him on the back.

FP left and Jughead sat there wondering why he even believed that his princess would ever be safe in the rough reaches of space.

 

******************

 

Jughead was roused by the sound of a painful groan. He forced himself to be fully awake as he sat up in his chair and leaned over to take Betty’s hand in his. He wanted to be sure she knew immediately that she wasn’t alone.

She flinched as she moved and Jughead, sitting at the edge of the bed, leaned over her, watching her face for more signs of distress. Her hand came up to her face, trying perhaps to remove the oxygen mask, but he shushed her gently, telling her in a gentle tone that she needed it. That it would help her get better.

When her eyes cracked open and a slow smile stretched her lips, she settled and said, “You found me.”

He never realized how such softly spoken words, said with so much love, could feel so devastating.

“Yeah, I did.” He lifted her hand to his lips to kiss the back of it and pushed some of her hair off her forehead, thinking about how he had taken too long to get to her, how this godforsaken planet had nothing but dead ends and locked doors. If he had found her sooner, she could have been spared all this pain and trauma. “Thanks to your homing rings. I’m only sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”

It hurt even more to say it out loud.

Even through the bruising of her face and the cut over her eye, her eyebrow arched. “Juggie… you aren’t blaming yourself for this, are you? Because that’s not going make my ribs stop hurting.”

He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. There were better things to talk about than the upsetting tangents of these series of terrible events. “No. I mean, that’s not important. What’s important is that you’re safe now. You’re here, and I’m going to take care of you.”

She gave a soft sigh, lifting one corner of her lip. “I know… how do I look? Do I look terrible?”

He couldn’t even bring himself to laugh. He didn’t know why that was hitting a nerve. He didn’t know why her question was pooling tears in his eyes. Maybe because out of all her injuries, the ones on her face were ever present and visible, unlike the fractures along her ribs, hidden under her clothing, or the broken bones of her foot, which fell below eye level.

The swelling, bruising, and cuts on her face reminded him all too well that whoever hurt her had been brutal and hadn’t considered her human.

“You’re still beautiful, baby,” he managed to choke out. “Just a little banged up, that’s all.”

“Hey,” she crooned, squeezing his hand. “Don’t do that, Juggie. I’m okay, aren’t I? Or is my prognosis worse than I thought?”

He managed to smile through the liquid haze of his tears, swiping his sleeve over his eyes. “Few broken bones, bruising, mild hypoxia; they’re keeping you here because of the last one, otherwise we’d be on the Wyrm, heading out.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “I would love to be back in the Wyrm. How much longer do I have to stay here?”

“Few more hours. When the oxygen levels in your body’s back to normal. They’re monitoring it. You’re steadily getting there.”

She made a whining sound. “Can’t I just continue this on the ship? I don’t like being here.”

“Betts, I would’ve taken you out of here if not for the hypoxia. We can’t risk having you crash while in transit. Best that the doctors give you the all-clear before we head out.”

He could see her biting her lip. “Fine. I shouldn’t complain. I’m alive and free. Some weren’t so lucky.”

“Those sons of bitches deserved what they got,” he said with a venom that surprised even him.

“No argument there. But I was talking about Malachai…”

_Oh._

“Malachai is alive.”

Her surprise was evident on her face. “How in hell—?”

“I guess they shot him with his mask on? The mask probably deflected the bullets. It went through his cheek, not his brain. Broke his jaw for sure, but he’ll get better. Less talkative, likely. But like I said— _better.”_

She motioned to laugh but her face immediately crinkled with pain.

He winced. “Yeah, those ribs…”

“He tried to help, you know,” she said through the grinding of her teeth. “He told me to run, but they got him quick, and he was out the entire time. And honestly? It’s probably his inability to shut up that saved my skin. Even half-unconscious, he’s distracting. I managed to make plays every time he made a sound.”

Jughead never thought he would feel like he owed Malachai. He supposed he could cut back on the Ugly jokes just this one time. “We’ll send him a thank you note—generous, considering all he did was lie there and take a bullet to the face.”

She shot him a look of mild chastisement. “I’ll hail him when we’re all settled in our ships. God, I honestly thought he had something up his sleeve when he turned up and the slave traders arrived.”

Jughead flinched at her mention of slave traders. So she knew what they’d been. “Malachai has an overblown sense of heroism. He fancies himself a kind of legal vigilante, and the scum of the universe are the villains. I didn’t think for a second that he had anything to do with this when I saw him on the floor of that kitchen.”

She pursed her lips. “Dilton…”

He nodded, brows creasing. “Yeah. I was so wrong about him, Betts.”

Her eyes were jarringly apologetic. “It’s not your fault. I know he was your friend and for that I’m sorry.”

 _“You_ have absolutely nothing to apologize for. If you hadn’t killed him, I’d have done it with my bare hands.” He was speaking through the clench of his jaw, rage stirring his words. “And I’d have made him suffer for what he did to you.”

Again, her fingers clenched. “But he’s gone now, Jug. You—you don’t need to cling to that anger.”

He took a deep breath and released it, letting her words sink in.

_You don’t need to cling to that anger._

He thought that easier said than done. He realized that he wanted to find the rest of Dilton’s slave trading crew and eradicate them. The universe was better one slave trading ship less.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, carding his fingers gently through her hair. “All you have to worry about is getting better. I’m going to take care of you, I promise. It’s going to be alright.”

She smiled, her own thumb rubbing the back of his. “Does that mean you haven’t told my mother about this?”

“We didn’t dare without your permission.”

Her smile widened in lieu of laughing, biting her lip to control the muscles of her face which were still probably aching. “Good. She will never know about this. You hear me, Jones?”

“I hear you.”

He was glad that the spark in her eyes didn’t seem diminished in the least. That whatever horror she went through hadn’t broken her spirit even if it had broken her bones.

But he swore she would never be subject to that ever again. Not on his watch.

Leaning over, he pressed his lips to her forehead.

No one was going to hurt her again. Ever.

 

******************

 

The first three days were the hardest.

Even with medication, pain was a constant companion that dominated her thoughts and body. It wasn’t so much her foot or her split lip. It was her ribs. They were painful enough to make her sweat, and the simple act of breathing made her grit her teeth and tremble.

She was confined to her room, the kitchen, and the common room, because anything beyond that required climbing and _walking_ farther. She couldn’t. Not yet. Not without the pain making her throw up and cry.

On her first night back on the ship, when she woke up needing to pee, she was startled to find Jughead laid out on her cabin floor on a futon.

Her movements had roused him, and he was up before she could process what he was doing there.

She blinked in the dark, trying to reign in her surprise. “Babe, I—I love you, but you don’t have to—“

“You are in pain, Betts.” His voice was thick with sleep. She had disturbed him but of course he wasn’t going to let on that she did. “Of course I want to help you. Are you thirsty? Do you need anything?”

“God, I—I need to pee, but you are absolutely _not_ going to help me do that.”

“I’ll just help you to the bathroom, that’s all. You go do your business by yourself, I’ll be right outside.”

She had to resist groaning at the prospect that he was going to be this way _the whole time._

She told herself he was doing this out of love and she appreciated that.

She let him help, and she had to admit that using a crutch would’ve been excruciating on her ribs. Leaning on him and his arm instead of a crutch beneath her armpit was so much more bearable.

And after all that, she also realized that waking up in the middle of the night with nightmares and paralyzing pain was eased by his care. Without her having to say anything, he would get up, ease her fears, give her pain meds, and stroke her hair as she drifted back into sleep.

She needed him, and it gave her a mixed sense of tender affection and mild unease.

Past the three days, the pain was more bearable. The breathing less agonizing, but even then, Jughead hardly left her side, and when he wasn’t around, either FP, Jellybean, or Hotdog were there. It was like Jughead had them on a schedule.

She wasn’t quite ready to complain just yet. Her relief when she didn’t have to walk between rooms to get something was real, but she did worry that she was taking up everyone’s time.

“I’m pretty sure you all have other preoccupations.”

Jellybean shrugged and plopped on a nearby seat. “What preoccupations I have I carry with me on my computer, so don’t sweat it.”

Hotdog climbed on the couch beside Betty and laid his head gently on her lap.

She sighed and scratched behind Hotdog’s ears. His contented whine made her smile. “The doctor said I’ll feel a lot better in a week, so we can all go back to our normal lives.”

Jellybean snorted. “Yeah, right. Tell that to Forsythe Nightingale.”

Betty smiled a bit at the nickname. She didn’t disagree.

Jughead was getting…

_A little obsessed_

….about making sure she wasn’t doing _anything_ with the slightest effort. It was easy enough for him right now to do things for her because she was physically incapable of beating him to it, but she wasn’t completely helpless, and she may have to talk to him about letting her do things even if it was a little harder for her.

Jellybean closed her laptop and set it aside, which Betty found oddly unsettling. She had never seen Jellybean set aside her computer like that.

“So I heard about your project. Your Universal Engine.”

Betty never called it that before, but she supposed it was a fitting name. “And?”

“I realize you’ve built engines before—created them, and while I know a few things about hardware, my strengths have always been in software.”

Betty smirked. “This, I know.”

Jellybean nodded. “Have you ever considered using computer programs to make your engine work better?”

This was an interesting question, coming from Jellybean. “Well, yes. All the time. For efficiency, for monitoring, gestalt economy…”

Jellybean moved to the edge of her seat. “Right! But have you ever considered a more micro approach? Nanotech?”

Betty’s eyebrow arched. “No… not really, but that’s not a bad idea. Expensive, though—“

“Not in the 4th Quadrant.”

Betty’s mind started to spin. Nanotech.

It was an inspired idea, if a little ambitious. If nanotech can be applied in the development of her engine, and it isn’t expensive to replicate it, then she could very much have a breakthrough.

“Tell me again how nanotech isn’t expensive here.”

Jellybean smirked and opened her laptop again. “Allow me to explain.”

Betty adjusted herself on her seat, felt her ribs flare for a moment, then it waned without crippling her.

She was feeling better already.

 

*****************

 

The day Jughead dropped the Sugarman off at the nearest law enforcement facility was the day Betty managed to make it to the engine room all by herself.

Of course, he had been preoccupied by the process of turning over a fugitive to the authorities, or else he would’ve helped her to walk the length of the ship.

He found himself agitated by his inability to be at two places at once, like how dare science fall short of actually manipulating time?

As he signed the papers and filed the documentation with the Galactic Bureau of Investigation, he kept eyeing the sign that said, “Got a tip? Don’t stay quiet. Let us know,” in various languages.

The Sugarman was quick to get hauled off in cuffs, and Jughead had to interface with several GBI agents so they could take down his statement.

It was a lengthy process but necessary to get the reward.

At some point, Jughead told them about the slave traders.

“If you’re wondering where some of them are hiding out, they’re in Peitho,” Jughead told the agent sitting across him. The agent wasn’t human. She was likely from Lyra Psyph, if the red tinge of her skin and the exoskeletal protrusions down her spine were any indication.

She maintained a serious expression, her dark purple eyes fathomless as they blinked. She spoke in clicks, but Jughead’s translator knew her language. “How can you tell they were slave traders?”

Jughead’s jaw twitched. “My girlfriend. They tried to take her and she survived the encounter. She’s recovering on our ship as we speak. There is a demand for slaves in the Vesturian star system. Slave traders thrive there and thousands of kids from across the galaxy get taken from their home planets against their will, to be made into slaves. Your agency needs to do something about this. It’s a heinous industry.”

Agent Reykha made a gesture with her long, spindly fingers. “The GBI has an Anti-Slave Trading task force in the works. If there is any evidence to assert your claim you must let them know where to find it.”

Jughead shook his head. “There isn’t anything left to find, I’d wager. The bodies that came out of my girlfriend’s attack were probably hauled out in the streets to get dissolved by the acid rains, and as far as I know, law enforcement down there is a joke--they’re extremely short handed or corrupt, or both. They may have some documentation at the hospital--your task force can look there. All we have are witnesses, at this point, but I’ll need to speak to them both to find out if they’re willing to come forward.”

The agent nodded, sending information to him through their tags. “You can contact me by comm, should they choose to speak to the bureau. Someone here will be ready to take their statement.”

That was enough for Jughead at the moment. He would send the information over to Malachai and hope that they would be willing to give the bureau helpful information.

He would bring this up with Betty in a couple of days—or a few more.

When she was feeling better.

_When her nightmares aren’t so frequent._

It had been a week since the drop off at the bureau and Jughead hadn’t so much as hinted at it.

He thought about the last couple of weeks of Betty’s recovery, how she handled pain and trauma.

She was a fighter. And she was stubborn.

He could see in her eyes her frustration at being unable to move about as she used to in better health, saw that relying on others probably pained her more than her injuries actually did.

She had always been independent, even on Earth, but her months in the deep reaches of space had developed in her an even tougher streak, and when once she might have given in to a far more leisurely convalescence, this one she took by the reigns, refusing to sit still, even going so far as slicing her pain meds in half just so she can take some to dull the pain but not make her pass out in restful sleep.

She moved about the ship, painstakingly slow, and the first three days, she would sweat profusely at the effort of just going from her room to the common area, but each time he told her to sit still, she would throw him a glare, and he didn’t know whether he should back off because she was a grown ass woman or give into his instinct to ease her suffering, which was to insist that rest would make her heal faster.

At night he camped out on her cabin floor, which she insisted was unnecessary, but given that the first three nights, just getting up to use the bathroom would have had her trembling in her bones with pain, she forestalled any complaints. She let him help her.

But the nightmares. _Her_ nightmares.

He couldn’t quite help her there. If he could reach into her dreams and protect her, he would, but all he could do was wake her, and then assure her that she was alright. She was safe.

She wouldn’t talk about it. She refused to tell him what those dreams were about, only telling him she was _fine,_ which he knew coming from her meant she was anything but.

He could tell that his vigilance over her recovery was beginning to wear on her, and the last thing he wanted was for Betty to feel sick of him. He’d started to back off, telling her that he felt she was well enough to be left alone at night. The relief he saw on her face stung a little, but when, two nights later, she asked to stay in his room for a couple of hours just to talk and cuddle, he knew he had done the right thing, giving her space.

It was nice, to feel her in his arms, kissing the back of her neck and absorbing her warmth.

He realized that the last week or so had been almost completely bereft of this intimacy. He had held her, for sure. He had to, because she had to lean against him when he walked her to and fro, but holding her _this close_ , he had deliberately resisted, because he was so afraid of hurting her. So scared he’s squeeze her ribs or knock her foot. Even sleeping beside her in bed was out of the question. He moved around in bed when asleep. He could roll over and hurt her.

His lips lightly grazed the soft skin of her nape, right beneath her hairline, and her answering hum, combined with her hand reaching behind her to run through his hair, awoke the desire he’d been suppressing the last couple of weeks. It came rushing through his veins like a burst dam and he had to breathe to tamp it down.

When her hand caught his and she moved it under her shirt to cup her breast, his breathing became instantly labored.

“Betts, you’re still in recovery—“

She shushed him, her fingers coaxing him to put pressure on the soft swell of her breast. He did so, but ever so gently. “Just like this.”

He loved to touch her. He craved feeling her around him, but he knew she was still in pain, and given that he had a tendency to get rough in bed, he already decided that his clothes were going to stay on, but if she needed him, he would be there for her.

He grazed her ear with his teeth and she sighed, closing her eyes.

“I miss you touching me this way,” she murmured, her body spooning deeper against his. She would feel his desire against her ass. Sure enough, she said, “You miss it, too.”

He chuckled, a hint of frustration lacing his tone. “I want you, but I’m not an animal. You need time to heal. The doctor said six weeks, in fact. You’re only just going into week three.”

“Halfway there,” she whispered, her own hand snaking down his stomach and running along the waist of his pants. “You’ve been taking such good care of me.”

He chuckled, gently stopping her hand from going further. “Have I? Maybe too much?”

She paused, and he saw that the light in her eyes waned a little. He instantly regretted being too flippant.

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled—“

“Jug,” she interrupted, gently. “If I made you feel like you were a nuisance, I’m sorry. It was ungrateful of me.”

He shook his head. “You’ve been in pain. And your night—you haven’t had proper sleep.”

She bit her lip. “You don’t have to make excuses for me, Juggie. I’ve been—I don’t like you seeing me so weak.“

“You’re not weak,” he said immediately. “You’re injured. You just need to heal.”

She tried to roll over, and he could see the pinch on her face as she tried to shimmy her hips to get into position.

He helped her get on her back and he leaned up on his elbow to look her in the eyes.

“Do you still feel responsible for what happened to me?” she asked, catching him off guard.

His answer was automatic, managing a tinge of hurt in his tone. “It's not about that.”

“I _know_ , but do you? Feel like what happened to me was your fault?”

He paused, knowing what he should say because he’d had this conversation with his father

“This is Dilton’s fault,” was his response. Careful. Deliberate. “He’s the sonofabitch that took you away and hurt you like this. I reported his group to the GBI. They need a statement from you about what happened. Are you feeling well enough to give it?”

She looked surprised. “That was a week ago—“

“They just followed up yesterday.” He lied. He didn’t know why, but he did. “I have their information. You can sit with them in bridge comm tomorrow if you’re willing.”

She paused momentarily, then she nodded. “Yeah. I—yes, I’ll give my statement.” She touched his face, running her thumb lightly along his jaw. “You are not responsible for the choices other people make.”

“I know that.”

“And Dilton knew what he was going to do before we got there. He would’ve done anything to get what he wanted.”

He let his fingers smooth over the bandages wrapped tightly around her ribs. He hadn’t even thought about the danger of slave traders. Jellybean never had to leave the safety of the Wyrm and no slave trader in their right mind would want to kidnap two grown men. He never had to think of them before, but now…

This was never going to happen again.

She angled a look at him pointedly. “But we know better now, don’t we? _I_ know better.” There was a question there and he didn’t quite know how to answer it yet.

He just nodded, and before she can say anything further, he leaned down and kissed her with hungry fervency. He knew she wanted his touch and he was so glad to give it.

Her soft moan filled him with satisfaction, knowing that he could make her forget her pain for the briefest moment. He would make her feel good and she didn’t have to worry about a thing.

His hand slid down her body, carefully unbuttoning her pants and slipping his hand beneath the garter of her panties.

She gave a quiet whimper when his fingers sought the warmth between her wet folds.

“This is just for you, baby,” he whispered. His tongue found hers and as she moaned into his mouth, he knew that her worries were dissolving in her pleasure.

 

*****************

 

In the coming weeks, Betty gained more mobility and she spent more time in the engine room, tinkering with her 4/2 Engine when she was done maintaining the Wyrm.

Jellybean was spending a lot of time with her, too, helping with the areas and gears of the engine room that were yet impossible for Betty to reach.

They were back in the less hostile star systems of the 4th Quadrant, where Jughead and FP managed a few more bounties.

Betty had given her statement to the GBI and Malachai, having recovered from his injuries, hailed them by comm to offer his thanks.

His face was still heavily bandaged and he couldn’t speak as of yet. He had to type his words, which was jarring to Jughead who was used to Malachai’s more bombastic intonations, but as incapable as Malachai was of using his mouth at the moment, his eyes were as bright as they ever were.

 **_My crew said I have you to thank for bringing me to the hospital,_ ** Malachai said, his words appearing beneath his bandaged face.

Jughead refrained from mentioning that he hadn’t even given Malachai’s body a second look when he saw Betty’s beaten body on the floor. He did, however, tell Malachai that it was FP who carried him over his shoulder.

“You bled all over dad,” Jughead drawled, throwing FP a sidelong look.

“Ruined my best pair of pants,” FP added, grinning.

The words **_Send me your dry cleaning bill_ ** appeared at the bottom, which made Betty chuckle.

It was at this point Malachai sniffed out that he had Betty’s attention.

 **_They did a number on you, didn’t they?_ ** Malachai typed, eyeing her pointedly.

Her smile waned slightly, and Jughead could feel himself bristling at Malachai’s careless words, but then Malachai added, **_Sorry I wasn’t much help. I got caught off guard. I was glad to hear you were okay._ **

Betty shrugged. “Not your fault. They caught us by surprise. The only reason I managed to survive was because you kept distracting them—from start to finish. You helped more than you know, so thank you.”

**_I’ll take it. Gave my statement to the GBI, and if the GBI don’t get those assholes, my crew and I will. They’re gonna pay for what they did to me. Shot me in the face, in case you hadn’t noticed. Almost got my cheekbones, too!_ **

Betty was clearly fighting the grin that threatened to break from her lips and Jughead could feel the ripple of annoyance in the pit of his belly begin to turn into something uglier.

If FP hadn’t made a scoffing sound and cut through his thoughts, he surely might have said something far less amusing.

“Quit trying to flirt with my engineer, Malachai,” FP said, rolling his eyes.

The half of Malachai’s face that wasn’t bandaged was clearly delighted. **_Blondie, if you want in on finding the people who did this to us, you have a spot in my ship all ready for you._ **

_Blondie?_ Jughead shot him a glare. Who does Malachai think he is? He wasn’t worth the ground Betty walked on.

“She already has a ship,” Jughead cut in, trying with everything he had to say this in a calm tone.

**_Oh, but can you show her a good time, Jones? I may look like a wreck now, Betty, but I swear I’m cuter than this._ **

“Alright,” Betty drawled. “That’s enough. I’m in a committed relationship, Malachai, and I love my boyfriend--”

**_I’m serious about finding those slave traders, though!_ **

“The ones that did this to me are dead, Malachai. Because of me. I’m letting the GBI handle the rest of them.”

**_Oh, but you and I can have so much fun--_ **

“Buh-bye.”

Betty cut off the feed and smiled, unbothered, as the screen blinked out. “I guess that was bound to be a short conversation. He’s funny though.”

“He’s not _that_ funny,” Jughead grumbled.

FP chuckled and clapped the back of his neck fondly. “Oh, you’re way funnier, kid.”

He shot his father a withering look, but he was was still too caught up in Betty calling what they had a “committed relationship” to exchange quality banter with his dad.

He had felt deeply for her the past few months, and he never hesitated to show her how he felt. He knew he was devoted to her, and she to him, but for her to say it out loud to someone else was doing all sorts of good things to his emotions.

He did, however, shake himself loose from his reverie and tried to act normal, because Betty seemed totally unbothered by it all, at least in front of FP.

It was only at night, when they lay side by side on her bed, fumbling to undo each other’s clothing, that Betty whispered, “What I said this morning at the bridge—“

“Music to my ears, Betts,” he breathed, sucking the skin of her neck.

She sighed, taking his hand and planting it firmly on her breast. “Thank, God. I didn’t want to scare you—“

“Nothing about _this_ scares me, Betty. Nothing.” He kissed her with raging passion. She was at week five of her recovery, and up until then, he hadn’t entertained the thought of making love to her properly. She had used her hands to get him off and he’d gone down on her to make her come, but having their bodies come together, his hips pounding into hers—he was going by the doctor’s orders: six weeks.

Even now, breathing raggedly into each other’s mouths, he didn’t dare want it that much.

“Juggie, I want you inside me.”

“God, baby, me too, but—“

“My ribs feel fine and my foot’s so much better.”

“But—“

“Fuck me, Jughead. Do you want me to beg? I’ll do it.”

She didn’t have to beg in the least. They were both so worked up from weeks of hand jobs and oral that they skipped the ceremonies this time and just banged.

Betty was not kidding when she said she felt better. She came under him, on top of him, and sideways. If there was any doubt at all that Betty was healing nicely, her agility in the bedroom removed it.

And when he finally reached that precipice, he closed his eyes and let himself get lost in the embrace of her body.

 

*********************

 

The evening FP caught him at ship bay, Jughead was elbow deep in the Hitchcock’s engine, cleaning it of the space dust that could clog his thrusters and grind his gears.

His father was grinning. “Chopper needs a bit of elbow grease itself.”

Jughead scoffed. “I’m sure it does.”

FP settled on the nearby work bench, a coffee mug in his hand. He took out a cigarette and lit it as Jughead took up a clean rag and wiped his hands in it. He turned around and leaned against his craft to face his father.

“What’s up, dad?”

FP was never one for small talk. There had to be something.

“JB found us a bounty.”

Jughead cocked a grin. “Cool. Where at?”

“Psybil star system, Chenondoa planet. Cold as heck, but nothing we can’t handle.”

They’d gone looking for a bounty in cold planets before and it was the same shit, different climate. It was going to be good. “What’s the bounty for?”

“War crimes. This lady led a mass genocide—got 3,000 souls eradicated in the name of God.”

“She got minions?”

“A few. She and her family went into hiding with her most loyal and trusted aids when the planetary revolt started burning her cohorts alive at the plaza. It ain’t an army but we can’t go in there with just the two of us, boy.”

A rock thunked in his gut, but his mild response bellied his growing agitation. “No?”

FP arched an eyebrow. Perhaps he knew the tone. “I ain’t asking, boy. I’m telling you. Betty’s cast came off this morning and her ribs have been good for a week.”

“Dad—“

“Don’t look at me like that. I already told her.”

Jughead felt his anger boil to the surface immediately. “You what?”

A sardonic smirk tilted FP’s lips. “Oh, was I supposed to ask your permission? Does Betty know you’re trying to manage her?”

The words struck him like a slap to the face. “It’s not like that! You were there when I took her from that kitchen, or have you forgotten what she looked like?”

FP shot him a withering look. “I thought she was dead, Jughead. I _remember.”_

“So what the fuck, dad? You’re just going to up and take her back out there?”

A laugh escaped FP. _“I’m_ not the only one taking her back out there. _She’s also_ taking herself back out there.”

Jughead walked up to his father and FP stood to meet him head on.

“I am _not_ going to let anything like that ever happen to her again, and for me to do that, I have to make sure they can’t reach her.”

FP scowled. “Who’s _they?”_

“ _All_ of them. The scum of this galaxy and all the wretched cowards who dared lay a hand—“

“I held my own out there,” came a harsh voice from the ship bay doors.

Jughead had never heard Betty speak to him in that tone. He almost couldn’t believe it was her and that she was addressing him, but when he regarded her in his lathered state, he was surprised that her fierce resolve seemed whittled to fine point, and that whatever outrage she had seemed to be directed at him.

She stepped out onto ship bay and looked him straight in the eyes. “I went out there--” she pointed a finger at the vast expanse of space, “--and helped you get that bounty without crumbling or getting in your way. And when those slave traders took me, I fought with _everything_ I had and I won. _I won_ . I stood on my broken foot and my broken ribs and I refused to be their victim. So you don’t get to decide whether I go with you on that next bounty or not. You _don’t,_ Forsythe.”

Jughead swallowed, caught completely off guard. “Betty, that’s not—I can’t control what these people are going to do—“

“So are you going to control me instead?”

 _“No!”_ he cried, rattled. “Of course not! But when they took you, I wasn’t _there!_ I should’ve been there!”

“This,” Betty began pointedly, her chest heaving. “Is _not_ about you. None of this was about you. This is about me making my own choices and believing in what I can do. This is about me surviving that attack with my body in one piece and my head intact!”

Frustration and panic coalesced in his chest. This was an entirely unexpected argument. He never thought he would be having this kind of discussion with Betty. Couldn’t she see? He only wanted to keep her safe. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her so hurt again.

“I’m not trying to take that choice away from you!” he cried. “I just want to protect you! You _still_ have nightmares about it. Don’t think I haven’t noticed!”

She took a step back, her mouth dropping open. “That is _not_ something I gave you permission to discuss with me. You can’t wave that in my face and use it to say you’re protecting me!”

FP sighed and made to leave, but before he did, he shot Jughead a warning glance and a muttered, “ _Boy,_ I lose my mechanic, I will whoop your ass.”

Jughead’s gut gave a twist as he watched his father leave through the doors. He couldn’t lose Betty to this, could he?

He ran his hand through his hair, feeling like he was slowly losing ground at the edge of a ravine. “It’s not like that, Betts. I love you. And God forbid, if anything worse happens to you, it will destroy me—“

“Jughead,” she said, her voice trembling but her eyes never leaving his. “I know you love me. I love you too. So much, and I know you just want to protect me, but if you think you can keep me sectioned away in that engine room because you can’t find it in yourself to believe in what I can do—what I _have_ done, then you need to step back and think again, because this is _not_ going to fly.”

He went to her and he was grateful that she didn’t step away, and that she let him put his hands on her sides. “I promised I’d protect you, and this is the best way I know how. When I found you in that kitchen, I thought I’d lost you, Betty. I’ve walked into missions like that far too many times in the past to expect anything more. That’s three seconds in my life that I believed you were gone and I felt myself breaking apart. I didn’t know what to do and everything else seemed pointless. I can’t, Betts.”

Her eyes softened. “I am so sorry you had to go through that, Juggie.” She pressed her hand over his heart.  “I would give anything to spare you that pain, but you can’t hold me with that. That’s not how this works. I am not a princess in an ivory tower, no matter how much you love me.”

He scowled. “It’s not like that at all.” He realized that this was his third time saying that exact phrase, and it was beginning to feel a little like he was speaking to a wall.

_Or a mirror._

She sighed and pursed her lips, dropping her hand from him. “Jughead, it sounds to me like you’re protecting someone, but this time it isn’t me.” This time she did step away, and he found that she was beyond his reach. “You need to think hard about this, because if you still don’t think I can’t handle myself, even after what I went through? Then I don’t know if this is good for either of us.”

“B-Betty,” he whispered. His hand were empty of her and as much as he wanted to take her back in his arms, her body language was so clear that he didn’t dare gainsay it.  “Are you breaking up with me? Over this?”

She shook her head. “I-I don’t know. This is _not_ what I want, but I need to know that you respect me enough to make my own decisions--”

“I do!”

“That is _not_ what I heard you telling FP. That is not what I’m feeling from you now.”

 _This_ was a nightmare. It had to be.

“I am going with you on that bounty whether you like it or not, Jug,” she said, finally. “If by then, you still have a problem with that…”

Her words trailed off and she looked away, turning to leave.

Jughead stood there and watched her go, paralyzed by the reality that he didn’t know what he was going to do.

 

****************

 

Betty tried to concentrate on her computations, scribbling and scratching on her notebook, now almost filled to the last page with numbers, mathematical symbols, and even astrophysical constants.

These pages contained a window into her brain and as the owner of that brain, she was always the one looking out. She hadn’t realized that anger and heartbreak could take her out and become the outsider looking in.

Staring at her notations felt like she was apart from all of the cold hard facts of physics and math. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus. She was in a nebulous cloud, aimless and bereft of density.

Try as she might to get her mind to focus on anything other than the first real disagreement she’d ever had with Jughead, she was failing, and as much as she wanted to hail Veronica on the comm to tell her all about it, she hadn’t exactly been forthcoming to her best friend about everything that happened to her. If she unloaded about this to Veronica now, she would have to tell Veronica _everything_.

She had been talking to Veronica, for sure, but she hadn’t given Veronica the full picture, literally and figuratively. For the past few weeks, Veronica had seen only her face, which, while at first had been relatively banged up, was easy enough to explain away with Peitho’s notorious asteroid belt and bit of revisionist history. She told Veronica that she got thrown around a little going through the asteroid field, but that she was relatively okay and that nothing was broken.

She hadn’t told Veronica that she had gotten kidnapped by slave traders and that she had to fight all of them off to the death. She didn’t want to put Veronica in the position of having to lie to Alice.  

But as livid and miserable as she was now, she couldn’t help but want to give in to the more selfish desire to spill everything, and then just let Veronica deal with the inner conflict that came with it.  

Sighing, Betty threw down her pencil so hard that it bounced off her table and fell to the floor.

Hotdog gave a soft whine and Jellybean looked up from her laptop, the gentle pulse of the warp core engine behind her giving her a soft blue silhouette. “Whatsamatter? Dimensional theory not working out for you?”

Betty couldn’t help but crack a smile at that.  Jellybean may not be the most sensitive person on the ship, but Betty did love her for assuming mathematical equations was the sort of thing that could upset her like this.

“Among other things,” Betty replied.  “How’s your hack coming along?”

Jellybean shrugged. “Slow. I’m a little lethargic from lack of sleep. Been reading this book and it’s riveting in its badness.”

Betty laughed. She wondered, sometimes, if Jellybean’s easy acceptance of life, good or crappy, was an act, or whether she really did find the answer to the opposite of anxiety.  She envied Jellybean for her complete disregard for rules when it suited her.

“There’s really a lot I can learn from you, JB,” she said.

Jellybean winked and made a shooting motion with her hand. “Stick with me, princess, and you’ll go places.”

_Just like her brother._

The engine room door opened, and Betty turned--she realized hopefully--to see who it was.

It was FP.

Hotdog immediate stood up and wagged his tail.

“Hey, kid.”

“Hi, FP. Jug isn’t here.”

“Oh, I know,” FP said, heaving a big sigh. “Hey, JB.”

“Father.”

FP shot her a withering look. “Think you can give Betty and your old man some privacy?”

“Okay, but I’d watch out, if I were you. Her equations aren’t adding up and she gets cranky when that happens.”

Betty watched her leave, Hotdog hot on her trail, with a fond smirk, and when the door closed, FP looked around to figure out where he could settle.

Betty stood and offered her seat as she hefted herself onto one of the many metal railings along the multi-level walkways surrounding the engine core.

Seeing as she had made space for him, FP took the offered seat without arguing.

“I guess I don’t get up here as often as I should,” FP said, his tone apologetic.

Betty chuckled. “Well, you shouldn’t have to. It’s what you hired me for.”

He nodded, looking preoccupied and not at all ready to insist the point.

Somehow, Betty had a feeling FP didn’t just suddenly decide he wanted to be more hands-on when it came to the warp core.  “What can I do for you, FP? You look like you have something on your mind.”

FP looked even more uncomfortable now than when he first walked through the engine room, so she let him take his time. When he finally began, it still seemed like he was wrestling with it. “Listen, I don’t--I don’t want to meddle in yours or Jughead’s affairs. God knows, I have no place in giving advice about relationships.”

Betty bit her lip, wondering if she should cut FP off right now and tell him it was best he didn’t go on with what he had to say, but the man looked so much like he’d rather do something else that she couldn’t bring herself to shun him. This was obviously not easy for him, and the man had always been so kind to her. She at least owed him a moment to listen.

He arched an eyebrow, as if waiting for her to throw him out of the engine room, and when she didn’t, he went on. “But there have been way too many times that I wasn’t there for my son, and I have a lot to make up for, so I just--the least I can do is put in a good word for him with his girl.”

She tilted her gaze at him sympathetically. “You’re a good father, FP.  But this--”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted gently. “He’s the only one who can fix this, and I agree with you. If you ask me, I think he’ll do the right thing. He always does. Just that--this might take a bit more time, is all.”

She couldn’t help but laugh softly. “I don’t see why. _You_ don’t have a problem trusting me out there.”

FP wagged a finger at her.  “There’s a reason for that, kid. I told you--I have a lot to make up for with Jughead, and most of that had to do with me not being there for him when he was growing up. I brought home the bacon, which wasn’t even that much, and that was it. For the most part, I was negligent and selfish. I’d come home from six-month long jumps and see that him and Jellybean were okay, and I’d just think, ‘eh, they could handle themselves just fine without me.’ I’d be out and about a day after I got home and I’d be riding with the members of my crew like I didn’t have a family to take care of. I ain’t a shrink, but that probably translates to me being better about letting everyone live their lives and making their own choices. But it’s that part of me that also made me an awful father.”

Betty couldn’t exactly picture it, but she’d heard snippets of FP’s past from Jughead, and while she knew that Jughead loved and respected his father now, she always did get the feeling that it had been a hard-earned aspect of their relationship.

“And you know what the worst part about that was?” FP asked.

“There’s a worse part?”

FP chuckled and nodded. “For the longest time, Jughead didn’t want to give up on me. He always believed that if I had something to come home to, I would eventually come to my senses and be the father he always dreamed I would be. I have broken that boy’s heart more times any human being deserves.”

Her own heart felt a little soft right now. “FP--”

“But that’s not what I came here to tell you,” he continued, quickly. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for him. You need to figure out what you want to do with him on your own, but I thought I might buy him some time--that boy, he ain’t much of a talker. When things are falling apart, he will shut down and try to figure things out on his own without consulting anyone--sometimes it means he will make mistakes before he figures it out.  Give him some time to work this out, okay? I’m taking you with us to the next job, anyway. He’s not changing my mind about that.”

Betty sighed and stared at the warp core, which meant she wasn’t interrupting FP, either.

Probably encouraged, FP went on. “That was the kind of father I was, and I’d like to tell you that his mom was better, and she was, for a while. She was there when I wasn’t, and she took a job of her own, which meant that Jughead had to take care of Jellybean when Gladys left for her early evening shift, and Jughead did it for them--for us. He thought that if he did his part, we would be a family again, but then one day his mother decided she would take Jellybean with her and go off without him--he was fifteen when he lost his mother and sister in one fell swoop. Shortly after, I went to jail, and Jughead… well, everything he thought he was working for fell apart. Everything he loved was just taken away from him and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Oh, my God.”

He waved her sympathy away. “You don’t need to feel sorry for him, because he got his sister back, and he and I are mending those bridges I tore down, and his mother--well, she’s still around but he doesn’t have to put up with her, so his life is pretty much on the up and up, but what I’m trying to tell you is that this kid’s gonna do all he can to protect what’s important to him because he knows how it is to lose it. He may--he may get a little desperate, maybe on the edge of out-of-hand, but with some proper--”

“Guidance?”

“Whoop ass?”

She gave him a scolding look and he smiled apologetically.

“He needs time. He just needs time.”

Betty tilted a smile at him, forgiving FP already for what he was trying to do. “This is just a little bit unfair, FP.”

FP shrugged. “I told you. I owe him. And that’s the last I’ll say about this from hereon--whatever you decide.”

Her eyebrow arched. “The last, eh?”

“Absolutely the last,” FP said, rising from his seat and putting his hands up. “Look, kid, I don’t want you to think you got no allies here because we’re Joneses and you’re technically a Cooper--”

_“Technically?”_

“Eh, like I said: Give it time.”

“FP!” She felt her face grow incredibly hot.   

“What I mean, kid, is that you’re family here, too. Last name Jones, or not.” That FP said this with a twinkle in his eyes made Betty feel even more mortified.  “If you need help, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, you got the rest of us, too. Not just Jughead. And, uh, if you got nightmares and stuff, I got a guy--”

She stifled a laugh. “A _guy.”_

FP shrugged and dug into his pocket for a piece of paper. “You think I got myself sober by myself? Even all the way out here, I got a sponsor. He ain’t much use to you for your bad dreams, but he knows a lot of good people who can help you with your PTSD.”

Betty took the paper. “PTSD, huh?”

FP shrugged. “You might have a touch of it. What you went through was tough, kid, and no amount of Jughead trying to smother you with his--” he paused, rolling his eyes. “-- _you know,_ deep feelings, is going to make that go away. Let the pros handle it, yeah?”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “Thanks, FP.”

“Alright. Now I gotta go make dinner. I’ll call you when it’s ready, okay?”

She watched him go and when he was gone, she looked down at the paper in her hand. In FP’s narrow scrawl was a comm link and the name of his sponsor.

 

**********************

 

Three days after she last talked to Jughead in ship bay and the day before they were going to do their job in Chenondoa, Jughead’s boots came into view from her vantage point beneath the Vixen.

She paused in her work, wondering if now he was ready to talk to her, and if, after this conversation, they would either work things out or be the complete opposite of it.

Her heart beat erratically and she willed herself not to cry. The mere thought of breaking up with Jughead was devastating enough. She didn’t know if she would have the strength to do it if she had to, but no matter how much she loved him, she couldn’t let herself go back to what she once was--a woman who let other people shape her life.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself to prepare for the worst.

She slid out on the creeper and found Jughead staring down at her.  He looked miserable enough, which wasn’t comforting at all. She imagined that she didn’t look any better.

She had avoided him, not because she was angry with him, but because she just felt that it was important that they spent some time apart. Like his father said, he needed time, and in a way so did she.

She wasn’t sure if he took it that way or if he thought she was doing it because she hated him. It hurt her to think that he was taking it all the wrong way, but she had to believe that he knew her enough to understand that she would never willingingly hurt him.

She wanted him to think about everything she said. She wanted him to realize things without her shadow forcing him to go with the “correct” answer for the sake of keeping her. He had to understand where she was coming from.  And while it wasn’t her job to help him come to terms with what happened to her, she understood that he had his own trauma to deal with in regard to that event, so she would welcome talking to him about all this with open arms. She loved him, of course she wanted to help him, too, but he should know: he had no right to fix his issues by making decisions for her.  

She missed him, terribly, but if she was going to make Jughead understand, she needed to establish what their relationship was all about. They protected each other, but it had to be done with mutual respect, or else it was just him, telling her what to do.

She had promised herself that after she left Earth, she was never going to let anyone do that to her, ever again.

“Hi, Juggie,” she said, simply, hopefully.

His eyes looked tired. Bruised around the sockets, like he’d been fighting with himself, not on the outside but within.

A small smile lifted the corner of his lip, however. “Wanna go for a ride with me?”

She sat up on her creeper. “Sure thing.”

Did it matter where? Not really.

She stood up and washed her hands at the ship bay sinks. As she wiped her hands to dry, she saw him walk to the Hitchcock.

“Umm, I can’t quite take the Vixen out—“

“Get in the Hitchcock with me.” He jumped into his craft’s cockpit.

She shot him a look. “Juggie…”

He smirked. “We’ll fit. It’ll be tight but we’ll fit.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’d have to be on your lap. That’s ridiculous.”

He pretended to give it some thought. “No lie, it’s tactical, but I want you to be close for this and I miss you like hell, so…”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him a pointed look, wondering of she wasn’t falling for some romantic trap.

“We won’t be going far, I promise.”

She supposed she could be stubborn and insist on taking the Chopper, but she already knew that no amount of being near him was going to change her mind about this issue.

“I’m going with you to Chenondoa,” she said.

“Nothing’s going to change that.”

After a moment's thought, she nodded and got into the Hitchcock with him, settling comfortably on his lap. She knew this craft as well as she knew hers, by now. As the Wyrm’s mechanic, she’d taken to maintain the crafts, as well, so she’d had to sit in the Hitchcock’s cockpit every once in a while as part of repairs and maintenance.

It was a big enough space, but with the two of them, she had to lean against him.  She sighed at the complete lack of barriers between them, a situation she knew she let herself get into. She supposed it was fitting, having set up invisible borders between them the last three days, and now that they agreed to talk—after a fashion, those borders immediately evaporated to nothing.

His nose nudged her neck and he sighed into the tender skin just beneath her ear. His breath felt warm and familiar, like that featherlight touch she would feel when he slept wrapped around her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softly.

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I know.”

He kissed the juncture between her neck and shoulder, then he started his craft, flipping the switches and sliding his fingers against the dashboard controls.

She helped him where he couldn’t reach around her and before long they were gliding out of the Wyrm into open space.

Betty watched space zip by, burrowing her own face into the crook of his neck.

Their 30 minute flight took them to a slow moving asteroid, stable enough in its orbit to have a craft settle on so they could enjoy the breathtaking view of dual star systems, thousands of light years apart. The space between the systems was vast but alive with moving objects, like they were connected by a bridge of cosmic birds.   

Jughead pointed to one star system. “That’s Aquila.” His finger moved to the other star system. “And that’s Lyra.”

She gasped, knowing the significance. “Vega and Altair.”

He nodded. “Also the two brightest stars in their respective star systems. Separated by a galaxy--not true, but still tragically romantic. On earth they’re celebrated by different cultures and called different names, but the story is the same. The love between the weaver and the cowherd was forbidden by the gods, for some celestial reason, so they were separated by the Milky Way, but every year, on the seventh day of the seventh moon of the lunar calendar, a bridge of birds form between them so they can meet and be together for a day.”

She sighed. “Are you _saying_ we’re Vega and Altair?”

He snorted. “God, I hope not. I would never want to be separated from you for an entire year and meet only once every year. I may expire and die.”

She turned her face to look at him. “Same.”

His eyes were bluer than ever against the dark backdrop of space, and the speckle of stars and wisps of clouds seemed to make them luminous, too.  “I can’t lose you, Betty.”

Cupping his face in her hands, she rubbed her thumb against his jaw. “Juggie, I don’t want to lose you, either, but if you try to make decisions for me, then we’ve already lost each other.”

Nodding, he tentatively put his hands on her leg and back. She craved his touch so she let him. “I was taught at an early age that there are certain things in life that you can’t control the outcome of. You think you’re doing what you’re supposed to do, only to realize in the end that you’re not all driving the same ship, and that everyone goes their own way.”

She wondered if she should tell him that she knew what he meant by that; that FP had given her the background of his life, but she waited, instead. She was here to listen to him.

“I think it’s why I ultimately went into the Def Cor,” he said. “It gave me a semblance of order, where everyone was marching towards the same goal, where I knew everyone was on the same page, and that I was one of the guys making sure we were all doing what we were told. The outcome was what I wanted it to be, each time. I thought I was pretty good at separating the lessons I learned in life and the ones I learned from the Def Cor, but I wasn’t prepared to deal with sending the love of my life into conflict.”

_Love of my life._

She bit her lip, trying not to tear up at his words.

“I wasn’t prepared, Betty. And everything we built between us--the trust, the respect, everything about you that I loved, it just faded in the background and all I can see was you broken and bloody, and that I could have done something to stop it, but I didn’t.” He sighed, shaking his head and looking down. “You’re right. It was all about _my_ trauma, _my_ guilt, at that point. I looked at it as _my_ failure, something I had to make up for, and I thought that if I helped heal you, at least, I can start fresh and prevent danger from ever getting so close to you again.”

She waited for him to look back up at her. When he didn’t, she tilted his chin up with her fingers. “What are we going to do about this now, Jughead?”

He took a deep breath. “Well, I’m hoping that admitting I’m wrong is a good first step.”

“It is.”

“Next, I’m going to beg you not to leave me. I swear I’ll be better. I promise to quit being the asshole who thinks saving you is my life’s mission. You _did_ an amazing job at Peitho and when those slave traders took you, you never gave up. You’re a badass, Cooper.”

She nodded. “Big damn hero.”

He smiled and it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “Baby, I can’t promise you that I’ll stop worrying, but you and I can make sure you’re always ready out there.”

“Jones,” she said, gently. “It’s you’re training that got me through all of that in the first place. Of course I’ll put in the hours with you.”

His hand squeezed the back of her thigh. “And if you ever get hurt like that again, dad’s going to take over your treatment. I’m going to have to step back and--and do as I’m told.”

She chuckled. “Wow, big promises. Think you can handle it?”

“I’ll have to. I don’t want to be that creep boyfriend. I don’t want you to leave my sorry ass.”

She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, lingering and sweet. His sigh of contentment sounded like relief, too. “Jughead, I don’t want you to think that I didn’t appreciate you taking care of me. That wasn’t what made me uneasy. I was just afraid that what I worked so hard for--the strides I made in Peitho, would be forgotten, just because I got hurt and needed to heal.”

“I know,” he whispered, nodding. “And you were right. I did forget. I lost sight of what you were capable of, that you proved yourself that day. I lied to you, too, because I thought I was protecting you. The day I turned the Sugarman over to the GBI, they already told me they’d want to hear from witnesses about the slave traders, but I thought you weren’t ready to sit with them to give them your statement. I went an entire week making that decision for you, Betts.”

“Juggie.”

“I also almost commed your mom yesterday,” he said, which made her jaw drop in mild shock.

“I didn’t do it!” he said, hastily. “And it was actually that moment I realized that I was being completely and utterly gross. It was… _real._ And I knew that if I had done that, if I had made your mom come to this ship to stop you from being with us tomorrow at Chenondoa, it would’ve been the end of us, and there would be no coming back from that.”

“You’re damn right!” she said, with feeling.

“I’m sorry I even thought it, but the fear of losing you to death was so overwhelming that I thought that losing my future with you was a better option. At least you’d be alive. At least I’d know you’d be safe.”

Her eyes filled and she hit his chest lightly with her fist.

_“Ow.”_

“That was such a stupid thought, Jones,” she said, wiping her tears away. “You are not allowed to take the emotional equivalent of a bullet to save me. Do you understand? Not ever. And it isn’t as if something like that won’t save me from the impact of that bullet, anyway. You’re not the only one who’ll lose something. We’re _both_ in this relationship. We’re tied together. If you get sucked into a black hole, you’re going to drag me down with you whether you like it or not. Do you hear me?”

He nodded, his own eyes going liquid.

She dug into his shirt, and sure enough, the homing ring was still tethered to his dog tags. She held it up against the ring on her finger.  “This means exactly what you want it to mean, Jug. I’m not even kidding. We’re bonded and there isn’t a damn thing that can change that. Do you understand?”

“I do,” he said, wrapping her hand in his. “God, I do. I love you. I respect you. This is going to work.”

She nodded. “It’s going to work. What we have is a wonderful thing and I really don’t want to lose it.”

He kissed her, amidst the backdrop of stars, amidst the story of two lovers separated by galaxies but finding each other one day of the year. She knew that everyday felt like that _one day_ with Jughead, from the moment she met him to now, sitting with him in his ship.

Every moment felt precious and rare.  

If there was anything she never wanted to let go of, it was that.  

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come! Promise.


End file.
